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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 















































Robin Hood and His 
Merry Outlaws 


BOOKS BY 

J. WALKER McSPADDEN 


Author of 

Robin Hood and His Merry Outlaws 
Stories from Great Operas 
Shakesperian Synopses 
Opera Synopses 
Famous Dogs in Fiction 
Boys’ Book of Famous Soldiers 
The Book of Holidays 
Stories from Wagner 

Editor of 

Famous Mystery Stories 
Famous Ghost Stories 
Famous Psychic Stories 
Famous Detective Stories 


THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY 

NEW YORK 













THE OUTLAWS COUNTED THE BOOTY. 


Robin Hood and His 
Merry Outlaws 


By 

J. WALKER McSPADDEN 


Author of “Stories from Great Operas,“ 
“Shakesperian Synopses,” etc. 


ILLUSTRATED IN COLOR 



NEW YORK 

THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



T2 


% 


n?5s 

/A 

« 


Copyright, 1904 
By Thomas Y. Crowell & Co. 

Copyright, 1923 

By Thomas Y. Crowell Company 


J 


Printed in the United States of America 


C1A711368 

V 


J 


0 


Aw 




INTRODUCTION 


S ONGS and legends of Robin Hood and his 
merry outlaws have charmed readers young 
and old for more than five hundred years. 
They are among the earliest heirlooms of the 
Anglo-Saxon tongue, dating back to the time 
when Chaucer wrote his “Canterbury Tales,” 
and the minstrel and scribe stood in the place of 
the more prim and precise modern printing 
block. The present stories, then, are but the re¬ 
telling of old tales whose charm and interest, 
nevertheless, make them ever new. The old tales 
were in rhyme and ancient spelling; they were 
hid in out-of-way places; and they were more 
or less disconnected and obscure to our modern 
thinking. For this reason the adventures are 
now put into a continuous prose narrative, in 
the hope that they will make some readers ac¬ 
quainted with one of the most attractive heroes 
in all story-land. 

“Was Robin Hood a real person?” will doubt¬ 
less be the first question. It has been asked for 
many, many years, just as a similar question 
is being asked about the great Swiss hero, Wil¬ 
liam Tell, and many another whom we would 


v 


VI 


INTRODUCTION 


much rather accept in faith. But this is an age 
of skepticism and doubt, so one might as well 
face the inquiry first as last. 

The question of Robin Hood’s flesh and blood 
cannot be answered by a brief “yes” or “no,” 
although learned men have pored over ancient 
records and have written books on the subject— 
some saying that he actually did live in the 
greenwood and fight with bow and staff and 
sword; others claiming that his deeds were but 
legendary stories relating to a group of men 
rather than a single, historical person; and still 
others saying that he is but the embodiment of 
May-time revels. 

However that may be, Robin Hood has been 
the one great popular hero in England for cen¬ 
turies, and the accounts of his life are much more 
clear and distinct than those of many early kings 
and lords. His adventures are minutely related 
in numerous ballads, and his name is cherished 
as one of the first among those who stood out 
for liberty and equal rights to high and low. If 
ever a man has been loved by his country, it is 
Robin Hood. “It is he,” says an old historian, 
“whom the common people delight to celebrate 
in games and comedies, and whose history, sung 
by fiddlers, interests them more than any other.” 
In the sixteenth century an annual holiday was 



INTRODUCTION 


Vll 


still set apart for him, and observed by all the 
people in the countryside. Bishop Latimer once 
visited a certain town and announced that he 
would preach there the next day. But on the 
morrow when he went to the church he found 
the doors locked and no congregation in sight. 
After waiting more than an hour for a key, a 
man came up and said: “Sir, this is a busy day 
with us; we cannot hear you: it is Robin 
Hood’s day. The parish are gone abroad to 
gather for Robin Hood.” The Bishop himself 
tells us of this incident and adds with hurt dig¬ 
nity: “I was fain there to give place to Robin 
Hood.” So he took off his robe and went his 
way, leaving his place to archers dressed in Lin¬ 
coln green, who played on rude stages the parts 
of Robin Hood, Little John, Friar Tuck, and 
even Maid Marian. 

There is more than one reason why Robin 
has been a national hero. He was not simply a 
robber and brawler. We must not emphasize 
these traits, in the turbulence and lawlessness of 
early days when king warred against noble and 
noble against bishop and all three oppressed the 
common people whom the law gave no redress. 
An outlaw in those times when deprived of pro¬ 
tection owed no man allegiance. His head was 
forfeit, if he were ever captured; so his hand 
was against every man’s, and every man’s against 


INTRODUCTION 


• • • 

Vlll 

his. And how easy it was to become an outlaw! 
The shooting of a king’s deer, or the incurring 
of some lord’s displeasure, was enough to put a 
man’s life in jeopardy. 

This was the day not only of oppression by 
church and state, but also of the struggle be¬ 
tween the Saxon landholders and their Norman 
conquerors. Robin Hood was, first of all, a 
Saxon who stood out for the rights of the 
people, waging war against knights, sheriffs, ab¬ 
bots, and money-lenders, whose sway was so 
heavy. But he was fair in war, a protector of 
women and children; courteous, moreover, to 
noble and peasant alike; kind to the poor and 
oppressed, with whom he shared the goods ob¬ 
tained from too-heavily-laden knight or bishop; 
generous, as well, giving to a bankrupt crusader 
horse, clothing and money to recover his estate; 
a respecter of honest laboring men and trades¬ 
folk whom his men were forbidden to molest; 
brave to rashness, proud and adventurous—ready 
to get blows as quickly as take them, and to defy 
the sheriff within his walled town; skilled and 
adroit and resourceful; finally, a man of frank, 
open countenance singing among the fights and 
shadows of the good greenwood, and jesting in 
the face of death itself. This is the picture 
which all the singers and story-tellers give of 


INTRODUCTION 


IX 


him. Is there any wonder that the common 
people loved him? 

This love extended from him to all the mem¬ 
bers of his hardy band. “God save Robin 
Hood, and all his good yeomanry,” is the way 
many of the ballads end. The clever archer who 
could outshoot his fellows, the brave yeoman 
inured to blows, and the men who could be true 
to his friends through thick and thin were favor¬ 
ites for all time; and they have been idealized in 
the persons of Robin Hood and his merry out¬ 
laws. Stories of their deeds are the epics of the 
common people, just as the earlier stories of 
King Arthur and his knights are the epics of the 
courtly class. The striking contrast of these two 
classes is shown in the forest scene where King 
Richard meets the yeomen on equal terms. This 
and other parallel portraits of Richard and Robin 
Hood (or Lockesley) have been drawn in en¬ 
during fashion by Sir Walter Scott in “Ivanhoe.” 

If Robin Hood really lived, it was probably 
some time during the twelfth or thirteenth cen¬ 
turies. Joseph Ritson, who is accounted the first 
modern authority on this subject, found warrant 
for the supposition that he was born at Lockesley, 
County of Nottingham, about the year 1160— 
during the reign of Henry II. His true name 
was Robert Fitzooth, and he came of good 
family. By some writers he was reputed to be 


X 


INTRODUCTION 


the rightful Earl of Huntingdon. He was a 
wild, adventurous youth whose debts or other 
follies drove him to the forests of Barnesdale, in 
Yorkshire, and Sherwood, in Nottinghamshire. 
Being declared an outlaw he had no recourse 
but to remain in hiding until a new king should 
come to the throne, or other public event work 
in his favor. Meanwhile he mustered a picked 
band of outlaws who became noted for their 
prowess and daring. They successfully defied 
the laws for many years, making other rough 
and ready laws of their own. 

King Henry died in 1189 and his son Richard 
of the Lion Heart was hailed as king. But the 
the government was then in a poor state owing to 
Richard’s absence upon a crusade, and his 
brother John’s weak regency. A history of the 
period by Mair has this passage: “About this 
time, as I conjecture, the notorious robbers Robin 
Hood of England and Little John lurked in 
the woods, spoiling the goods only of rich men. 
They slew nobody but those who attacked them, 
or offered resistance in defense of their property. 
Robert maintained by his plunder a hundred 
archers, so skilful in fight that four hundred 
brave men feared to attack them. He suffered 
no woman to be maltreated, and never robbed 
the poor, but assisted them abundantly with the 
wealth which he took from abbots.” 


INTRODUCTION 


xi 


When Richard returned to England it is said 
that he forgave Robin Hood and attached his 
yeomen to the Royal Guard. But on Richard’s 
death, his successor John drove Robin again into 
outlawry which continued until Robin’s death. 
The ruins of a castle are still shown where the 
outlaw defied the king’s jnen; but there are 
also many hills, woods, rocks and caverns which 
are spoken of as “Robin Hood’s.” The date of 
his death has been set down, doubtfully, as 
December 24, 1247, but this would make him a 
very old man—too old to do the deeds of strength 
ascribed up to the day of his death. One of the 
earliest printed ballads gives Robin a later 
period and asserts that it was not King Richard 
but King Edward (one of the first three) who 
pardoned him in Sherwood Forest. 

Maid Marian also has been variously identified 
as a figure of history. She is said to have been 
a Mistress Fitzwalter, daughter of an earl, and a 
tomb is still pointed out as hers. 

The earliest accounts of Robin Hood are found 
in ballads and songs which go back to the thir¬ 
teenth century. As this was before printing was 
known, they came down from generation to gen¬ 
eration by word of mouth. Ballads of this na¬ 
ture were very popular at festivals and public 
gatherings. They were usually improvised by 
some chief singer who found his theme in a well- 


i 


Xll 


INTRODUCTION 


known event, and all his listeners joined in the 
chorus, keeping time to the rhythm of the lines 
by patting their feet or dancing upon the village 
green. The popularity of the Robin Hood 
songs and belief in this hero, are shown by the 
numerous examples which have come down to 
our own day, while songs on many other subj ects 
were forgotten. 

The first historical allusion to Robin Hood is 
found in a book called “Piers Ploughman” 
(written about 1362), where his rhymes are men¬ 
tioned as being well known. The next notice is 
in Wyntown’s “Scottish Chronicle” (about 
1420), where both Robin Hood and Little John 
are ascribed to the year 1283. In Fordun and 
Bower’s “Scotichronicon,” a fifteenth century 
work, the two outlaws are said to have lived in 
1266. Main, the Scottish writer of the first 
quarter of the sixteenth century—who is quoted 
above—is the next to mention Robin Hood, 
giving him, in the “History of Great Britain,” a 
period during the fife of Richard I, which is now 
generally accepted. 

Caxton introduced the art of printing into 
England in 1477, and one of the earliest books 
published thereafter was a collection of Robin 
Hood ballads (between 1489 and 1510) entitled: 
“Here beginneth a little geste of Robin Hood 
and his meiny: and of the proud sheriff of Not- 



INTRODUCTION 


xm 

tingham.” The book was printed by Wynken 
de Worde. Toward the end of the sixteenth 
century, Anthony Munday wrote his successful 
play of “The Downfall of Robert, Earl of Hunt¬ 
ingdon.” This play and the doubtful epitaph 
quoted in the last story are the chief grounds for 
supposing that Robin Hood was ever anything 
more than a simple yeoman. 

In 1832, the industrious scholar Joseph Ritson 
made the first anthology of this material, in a 
book entitled: “Robin Hood: a Collection of 
Poems, Songs, and Ballads,” which was prefaced 
by a Life. Ritson’s book has been largely fol¬ 
lowed by succeeding writers. In 1853, appeared 
a collection of the ballads with “A Historical 
Sketch of Robin Hood,” by William W. Camp¬ 
bell. A later library of “English and Scottish 
Ballads,” edited by Francis James Child, pre¬ 
sents a full collection of Robin Hood songs in 
connection with other subjects. Edward Arber’s 
“English Garner” gives the “Little Geste,” as 
also does John M. Glutch’s edition of these and 
other ballads. 

In the present prose stories, the old ballads 
have been followed for their spirit and main 
situations. The idea has been to weave them 
together to form one continuous narrative, mak¬ 
ing a complete, consistent picture of the great 
outlaw’s life in the forest. Every story is begun 


XIV 


INTRODUCTION 


by verses from the ballad upon which it is based, 
and frequently throughout the pages the exact 
language is used. Incidents are told more fully 
than could be done in the rhymed original, but 
always in line with what is naturally suggested 
between the verses. 

For those readers who have not had oppor¬ 
tunity to make the acquaintance of the original 
ballads, a few are appended in the back of the 
present volume. They are selected from the 
verses which most directly suggested this prose 
version of the merry outlaw’s adventures. And 
if any of the appeal and charm of those original 
verses—their bubbling humor, simple gaiety, 
dash, swing, and the fragrance of growing things 
upon a fresh May morning—have passed into 
these lines of prose, the writer will feel more 
than repaid for a labor which throughout was one 
of fascination and deep interest. 


CONTENTS 


Page 

Introduction . v 

I How Robin Hood Became an Outlaw . 1 

II How Robin Hood Met Little John . 22 

III How Robin Hood Turned Butcher and Entered 

the Sheriff’s Service . 31 

IV How Little John Entered the Sheriff’s Ser¬ 

vice . 42 

V How the Sheriff Lost Three Good Servants 

and Found Them Again 54 

VI How Robin Hood Met Will Scarlet . 66 

VII How Robin Hood Met Friar Tuck . 78 

VIII How Allan-a-Dale’s Wooing was Prospered .. 90 

IX How the Widow’s Three Sons Were Rescued 103 

X How a Beggar Filled the Public Eye . . 113 

XI How Robin Hood Fought Guy of Gisborne ... 122 

XII How Maid Marian Came Back to Sherwood 
Forest; also, How Robin Hood Came Be¬ 
fore the Queen . 138 

XIII How the Outlaws Shot in King Harry’s 

Tourney . 150 

XIV How Robin Hood was Sought of the Tinker . 172 

XV How Robin Hood was Tanned of the Tanner 187 

XVI How Robin Hood Met Sir Richard of the Lea. 199 

XVII How the Bishop was Dined . 213 

XVIII How the Bishop Went Outlaw Hunting .... 222 

XIX How the Sheriff Held Another Shooting 

Match . 232 

XX How Will Stutely was Rescued . 242 

XXI How Sir Richard of the Lea Repaid His Debt 255 

XXII How King Richard Came to Sherwood Forest 263 

XXIII How Robin Hood and Maid Marian Were Wed 279 

XXIV How Robin Hood Met His Death. 289 

Appendix . 297 

xv 


f 

















ILLUSTRATIONS 

Drawn in color by Allan Stewart 

The outlaws counted the booty.(64) Frontispiece 

Robin Hood aimed the shaft full at Little 

John .Page 24 

Little John raids the pantry. 50 

“There is my herd of cattle, good Master Sheriff” 58 

The wedding of Allan-a-Dale . 100 

The outlaw dashed quickly into the inn. 124 

Pour were clad in Lincoln green. 160 

The worthy bishop found himself a prisoner .... 216 

“Now by all the saints,” began the Bishop. 226 

“Ah!” said Robin, “the church is always willing 


to aid in charity”. 230 

They attacked the wine and pastry valiantly .... 266 

“It is the King,” cried Will Scarlet, falling upon 

his knees. 278 


xvi 











Robin Hood and His 
Merry Outlaws 

CHAPTER I 

( 

HOW ROBIN HOOD BECAME AN 

OUTLAW 

List and hearken, gentlemen, 

That be of free-born blood, 

I shall you tell of a good yeoman 
His name was Robin Hood. 

Robin was a proud outlaw. 

While as he walked on the ground: 

So courteous an outlaw as he was one 
Was never none else found. 

I N the days of good King Harry the Second 
of England—he of the warring sons—there 
were certain forests in the north country set 
aside for the King’s hunting, and no man might 
shoot deer therein under penalty of death. These 
forests were guarded by the King’s Foresters, 
the chief of whom, in each wood, was no mean 
man but equal in authority to the Sheriff in his 
walled town, or even to my lord Bishop in his 
abbey. 

One of the greatest of royal preserves was 
Sherwood and Barnesdale forests near the two 


(i) 


2 


ROBIN HOOD 


towns of Nottingham and Barnesdale. Here for 
some years dwelt one, Hugh Fitzooth as Head 
Forester, with his good wife and little son 
Robert. The boy had been born in Lockesley 
town—in the year 1160, stern records say,—and 
was often called Lockesley, or Rob of Lockesley. 
He was a comely, well-knit stripling, and as 
soon as he was strong enough to walk his chief 
delight was to go with his father into the forest. 
As soon as his right arm received thew and sinew 
he learned to draw the long bow and speed a 
true arrow. While on winter evenings his great¬ 
est joy was to hear his father tell of bold Will o’ 
the Green, the outlaw, who for many summers 
defied the King’s Foresters and feasted with his 
men upon King’s deer. And on other stormy 
days the boy learned to whittle out a straight 
shaft for the long bow, and tip it with gray 
goose feathers. 

The fond mother sighed when she saw the boy’s 
face light up at these woodland tales. She was 
of gentle birth, and had hoped to see her son 
famous at court or abbey. She taught him to 
read and write, to doff his cap without awk¬ 
wardness and to answer directly and truthfully 
both lord and peasant. But the boy, although 
he took kindly to these lessons of breeding, was 
yet happiest when he had his beloved bow in 


ROBIN AN OUTLAW 


3 


hand and strolled at will, listening to the mur¬ 
mur of the trees. 

Two playmates had Rob in these gladsome 
early days. One was Will Game well his father’s 
brother’s son, who lived at Gamewell Lodge, 
hard by Nottingham town. The other was 
Marian Fitzwalter, only child of the Earl of 
Huntingdon. The castle of Huntingdon could 
be seen from the top of one of the tall trees in 
Sherwood; and on more than one bright day 
Rob’s white signal from his tree told Marian 
that he awaited her there: for you must know 
that Rob did not visit her at the castle. His 
father and her father were enemies. Some peo¬ 
ple whispered that Hugh Fitzooth was the right¬ 
ful Earl of Huntingdon, but that he had been 
defrauded out of his lands by Fitzwalter, who 
had won the King’s favor by a crusade to the 
Holy Land. But little cared Rob or Marian 
for this enmity, however it had arisen. They 
knew that the great greenwood was open to 
them, and that the wide, wide world was full of 
the scent of flowers and the song of birds. 

Days of youth speed all too swiftly, and 
troubled skies come all too soon. Rob’s father 
had two other enemies besides Fitzwalter in the 
persons of the lean Sheriff of Nottingham and 
the fat Bishop of Hereford. These three enemies 
one day got possession of the King’s ear and 


4 


ROBIN HOOD 


whispered therein to such good—or evil—pur¬ 
pose that Hugh Fitzooth was removed from his 
post of King’s Forester. He and his wife and 
Rob, then a youth of nineteen, were descended 
upon, during a cold winter’s evening, and dis¬ 
possessed without warning. The Sheriff arrested 
the Forester for treason,—of which, poor man, 
he was as guiltless as you or I,— and carried him 
to Nottingham jail. Rob and his mother were 
sheltered over night in the jail, also, but next 
morning were roughly bade to go about their 
business. Thereupon they turned for succor to 
their only kinsman, Squire George of Game well, 
who sheltered them in all kindness. 

But the shock, and the winter night’s journey, 
proved too much for Dame Fitzooth. She had 
not been strong for some time before leaving the 
forest. In less than two months she was no 
more. Rob felt as though his heart was broken 
at this loss. But scarcely had the first spring 
flowers begun to blossom upon her grave, when 
he met another crushing blow in the loss of his 
father. That stern man had died in prison be¬ 
fore his accusers could agree upon the charges 
by which he was to be brought to trial. 

Two years passed by. Rob’s cousin Will was 
away at school; and Marian’s father, who had 
learned of her friendship with Rob, had sent his 
daughter to the court of Queen Eleanor. So 



ROBIN AN OUTLAW 


5 


these years were lonely ones to the orphaned lad. 
The bluff old Squire was kind to him, but 
secretly could make nothing of one who went 
about brooding and as though seeking for some¬ 
thing he had lost. The truth is that Rob missed 
his old life in the forest no less than his mother’s 
gentleness, and his father’s companionship. 
Every time he twanged the string of the long 
bow against his shoulder and heard the gray 
goose shaft sing, it told him of happy days that 
he could not recall. 

One morning as Rob came in to breakfast, his 
uncle greeted him with, “I have news for you, 
Rob, my lad!” and the hearty old Squire finished 
his draught of ale and set his pewter tankard 
down with a crash. 

“What may that be, Uncle Game well?” asked 
the young man. 

“Here is a chance to exercise your good long 
bow and win a pretty prize. The Fair is on at 
Nottingham, and the Sheriff proclaims an 
archer’s tournament. The best fellows are to 
have places with the King’s Foresters, and the 
one who shoots straightest of all will win for 
prize a golden arrow—a useless bauble enough, 
but just the thing for your lady love, eh, Rob 
my boy?” Here the Squire laughed and whacked 
the table again with his tankard. 

Rob’s eyes sparkled. “ ’Twere indeed worth 


6 


ROBIN HOOD 


shooting for, uncle mine,” he said. “I should 
dearly love to let arrow fly alongside another 
man. And a place among the Foresters is what 
I have long desired. Will you let me try?” 

“To be sure,” rejoined his uncle. “Well I 
know that your good mother would have had me 
make a clerk of you; but well I see that the 
greenwood is where you will pass your days. 
So, here’s luck to you in the bout!” And the 
huge tankard came a third time into play. 

The young man thanked his uncle for his good 
wishes, and set about making preparations for 
the journey. He traveled lightly; but his yew 
bow must needs have a new string, and his cloth- 
yard arrows must be of the straightest and 
soundest. 

One fine morning, a few days after, Rob 
might have been seen passing by wav of Lockes- 
ley through Sherwood Forest to Nottingham 
town. Briskly walked he and gaily, for his hopes 
were high and never an enemy had he in the wide 
world. But ’twas the very last morning in all his 
life when he was to lack an enemy! For, as he 
went his way through Sherwood, whistling a 
blithe tune, he came suddenly upon a group of 
Foresters, making merry beneath the spreading 
branches of an oak-tree. They had a huge meat 
pie before them and were washing down prodi¬ 
gious slices of it with nut brown ale. 


ROBIN AN OUTLAW 


7 


One glance at the leader and Rob knew at once 
that he had found an enemy. ’Twas the man 
who had usurped his father’s place as Head 
Forester, and who had roughly turned his mother 
out in the snow. But never a word said he for 
good or bad, and would have passed on his way, 
had not this man, clearing his throat with a huge 
gulp, bellowed out: “By my troth here is a pretty 
little archer! Where go you, my lad, with that 
tupenny bow and toy arrows? Belike he would 
shoot at Nottingham Fair! Ho! Ho!” 

A roar of laughter greeted this sally. Rob 
flushed, for he was mightily proud of his shooting. 

“My bow is as good as yours,” he retorted, 
“and my shafts will carry as straight and as far. 
So I’ll not take lessons of any of ye!” 

They laughed again loudly at this, and the 
leader said with a frown: 

“Show us some of your skill, and if you can 
hit the mark here’s twenty silver pennies for you. 
But if you hit it not you are in for a sound drub¬ 
bing for your pertness.” 

“Pick your own target,” quoth Rob in a fine 
rage. “I’ll lay my head against that purse that 
I can hit it.” 

“It shall be as you say,” retorted the Forester 
angrily, “your head for your sauciness that you 
hit not my target.” 

Now at a little rise in the wood a herd of deer 


8 


ROBIN HOOD 


came grazing by, distant full fivescore yards. 
They were King’s deer but at that distance 
seemed safe from any harm. The Head Forester 
pointed to them. 

“If your young arm could speed a shaft for 
half that distance, I’d shoot with you.” 

“Done!” cried Rob. “My head against 
twenty pennies I’ll cause yon fine fellow in the 
lead of them to breathe his last.” 

And without more ado he tried the string of 
his long bow, placed a shaft thereon, and drew it 
to his ear. A moment, and the quivering string 
sang death as the shaft whistled across the glade. 
Another moment and the leader of the herd 
leaped high in his tracks and fell prone, dyeing 
the sward with his heart’s blood. 

A murmur of amazement swept through the 
Foresters and then a growl of rage. He that 
had wagered was angriest of all. 

“Know you what you have done, rash youth?” 
he said. “You have killed a King’s deer, and 
by the laws of King Harry your head remains 
forfeit. Talk not to me of pennies but get ye 
gone straight, and let me not look upon your 
face again.” 

Rob’s blood boiled within him, and he uttered 
a rash speech. “I have looked upon your face 
once too often already, my fine Forester. ’Tis 
you who wear my father’s shoes.” 


ROBIN AN OUTLAW 


9 


And with this he turned upon his heel and 
strode away. 

The Forester heard his parting thrust with an 
oath. Red with rage he seized his bow, strung an 
arrow, and without warning launched it full at 
Rob. Well was it for the latter that the Fores¬ 
ter’s foot turned on a twig at the critical instant, 
for as it was the arrow whizzed by his ear so 
close as to take a stray strand of his hair with it. 

Rob turned upon his assailant, now twoscore 
yards away. 

“Ha!” said he. “ You shoot not so straight 
as I for all your bravado. Take this from the 
tupenny bow!” 

Straight flew his answering shaft. The Head 
Forester gave one cry then fell face downward 
and lay still. His life had avenged Rob’s father, 
but the son was outlawed. Forward he ran 
through the forest, before the band could gather 
their scattered wits—still forward into the great 
greenwood. The swaying trees seemed to open 
their arms to the wanderer, and to welcome him 
home. 

Toward the close of that same day, Rob 
paused hungry and weary at the cottage of a 
poor widow who dwelt upon the outskirts of the 
forest. Now this widow had often greeted him 
kindly in his boyhood days, giving him to eat 
and drink. So he boldly entered her door. 


10 


ROBIN HOOD 


The old dame was right glad to see him, and 
baked him cakes in the ashes, and had him rest 
and tell her his story. Then she shook her 
head. 

“ ’Tis an evil wind that blows through Sher¬ 
wood,” she said. “The poor are despoiled and 
the rich ride over their bodies. My three sons 
have been outlawed for shooting King’s deer to 
keep us from starving, and now hide in the 
wood. An they tell me that twoscore of as 
good men as ever drew bow are in hiding with 
them.” 

“Where are they, good mother?” cried Rob. 
“By my faith, I will join them.” 

“Nay, nay,” replied the old woman at first. 
But when she saw that there was no other way, 
she said: “My sons will visit me to-night. Stay 
you here and see them if you must.” 

So Rob stayed willingly to see the widow’s 
sons that night, for they were men after his own 
heart. And when they found that his mood was 
with them, they made him swear an oath of 
fealty, and told him the haunt of the band—a 
place he knew right well. Finally one of them 
said: 

“But the band lacks a leader,—one who can 
use his head as well as his hand. So we have 
agreed that he who has skill enough to go to 


ROBIN AN OUTLAW 


11 


Nottingham, an outlaw, and win the prize at 
archery, shall be our chief.” 

Rob sprang to his feet. “Said in good time!” 
cried he, “for I had started to that self-same 
Fair, and all the Foresters, and all the Sheriff’s 
men in Christendom shall not stand between me 
and the centre of their target!” 

And though he was but barely grown he 
stood so straight and his eye flashed with such 
fire that the three brothers seized his hand and 
shouted: 

“A Lockesley! a Lockesley! if you win the 
golden arrow you shall be chief of outlaws in 
Sherwood Forest!” 

So Rob fell to planning how he could disguise 
himself to go to Nottingham town; for he knew 
that the Foresters had even then set a price on 
his head in the market-place. 

It was even as Rob had surmised. The Sheriff 
of Nottingham posted a reward of two hundred 
pounds for the capture, dead or alive, of one 
Robert Fitzooth, outlaw. And the crowds 
thronging the streets upon that busy Fair day 
often paused to read the notice and talk together 
about the death of the Head Forester. 

But what with wrestling bouts, and fights with 
quarter-staves, and songs by wandering min¬ 
strels, there came up so many other things to talk 
about, that the reward was forgotten for the 


12 


ROBIN HOOD 


nonce, and only the Foresters and Sheriff’s men 
watched the gates with diligence, the Sheriff in¬ 
deed spurring them to effort by offers of largess. 
His hatred of the father had descended to the 
son. 

The great event of the day came in the after¬ 
noon. It was the archer’s contest for the golden 
arrow, and twenty men stepped forth to shoot. 
Among them was a beggar-man, a sorry looking 
fellow with leggings of different colors, and 
brown scratched face and hands. Over a tawny 
shock of hair he had a hood drawn much like 
that of a monk. Slowly he limped to his place 
in the line while the mob shouted in derision. 
But the contest was open to all comers, so no 
man said him nay. 

Side by side with Rob—for it was he—stood a 
muscular fellow of swarthy visage and with one 
eye hid by a green bandage. Him also the 
crowd jeered, but he passed them by with in¬ 
difference while he tried his bow with practiced 
hand. 

A great crowd had assembled in the amphi¬ 
theatre enclosing the lists. All the gentry and 
populace of the surrounding country were gath¬ 
ered there in eager expectancy. The central box 
contained the lean, but pompous Sheriff, his be- 
jeweled wife, and their daughter, a supercilious 
young woman enough, who, it was openly hinted, 



ROBIN AN OUTLAW 


13 


was hoping to receive the golden arrow from the 
victor and thus be crowned queen of the day. 

Next to the Sheriff’s box was one occupied 
by the fat Bishop of Hereford; while on the other 
side was a box wherein sat a girl whose dark hair, 
dark eyes, and fair features caused Rob’s heart 
to leap. ’Twas Maid Marian! She had come 
up for a visit from the Queen’s court at London 
town and now sat demurely by her father, the 
Earl of Huntingdon. If Rob had been grimly 
resolved to win the arrow before, the sight of her 
sweet face multiplied his determination an hun¬ 
dredfold. He felt his muscles tightening into 
bands of steel, tense and true. Yet withal his 
heart would throb, making him quake in a most 
unaccountable way. 

Then the trumpet sounded, and the crowd be¬ 
came silent while the herald announced the terms 
of the contest. The lists were open to all comers. 
The first target was to be placed at thirty ells 
distance, and all those who hit its centre were 
allowed to shoot at the second target, placed ten 
ells farther off. The third target was to be re¬ 
moved yet farther until the winner was proved. 
The winner was to receive the golden arrow and 
a place with the King’s Foresters. He it was 
also who crowned the queen of the day. 

The trumpet sounded again, and the archers 
prepared to shoot. Rob looked to his string, 


14 


ROBIN HOOD 


while the crowd smiled and whispered at the odd 
figure he cut with his vari-colored legs and little 
cape. But as the first man shot, they grew silent. 

The target was not so far but that twelve out 
of the twenty contestants reached its inner circle. 
Rob shot sixth in the line and landed fairly, be¬ 
ing rewarded by an approving grunt from the 
man with the green blinder, who shot seventh, 
and with apparent carelessness, yet true to the 
bulls-eye. 

The mob cheered and yelled themselves hoarse 
at this even marksmanship. The trumpet 
sounded again, and a new target was set up at 
forty ells. 

The first three archers again struck true, amid 
the loud applause of the onlookers; for they were 
general favorites and expected to win. Indeed 
’twas whispered that each was backed by one of 
the three dignitaries of the day. The fourth 
and fifth archers barely grazed the centre. Rob 
fitted his arrow quietly and with some confidence 
sped it unerringly toward the shining circle. 

“The beggar! the beggar!” yelled the crowd; 
“another bull for the beggar!” 

In truth his shaft was nearer the centre than 
any of the others. But it was not so near that 
“Blinder,” as the mob had promptly christened 
his neighbor, did not place his shaft just within 
the mark Again the crowd cheered wildly. 


ROBIN AN OUTLAW 


15 


Such shooting as this was not seen every day in 
Nottingham town. 

The other archers in this round were discon¬ 
certed by the preceding shots, or unable to keep 
the pace. They missed one after another and 
dropped moodily back, while the trumpet 
sounded for the third round, and the target was 
set up fifty ells distant. 

“By my halidom you draw a good bow, young 
master,” said Rob’s queer comrade to him in the 
interval allowed for rest. “Do you wish me to 
shoot first on this trial?” 

“Nay,” said Rob, “but you are a good fellow 
by this token, and if I win not, I hope you may 
keep the prize from yon strutters.” And he 
nodded scornfully at the three other archers who 
were surrounded by their admirers, and were be¬ 
ing made much of by retainers of the Sheriff, the 
Bishop, and the Earl. From them his eye 
wandered toward Maid Marian’s booth. She 
had been watching him, it seemed, for their eyes 
met; then hers were hastily averted. 

“Blinder’s” quick eye followed those of Rob. 
“A fair maid, that,” he said smilingly, “and one 
more worthy the golden arrow than the Sheriff’s 
haughty miss.” 

Rob looked at him swiftly and saw naught but 
kindliness in his glance. 


16 


ROBIN HOOD 


“You are a shrewd fellow and I like you well,’' 
was his only comment. 

Now the archers prepared to shoot again, each 
with some little care. The target seemed hardly 
larger than the inner ring had looked, at the first 
trial. The first three sped their shafts, and while 
they were fair shots they did not more than graze 
the inner circle. 

Rob took his stand with some misgiving. 
Some flecking clouds overhead made the light 
uncertain, and a handful of wind frolicked across 
the range in a way quite disturbing to a bow¬ 
man’s nerves. His eyes wandered for a brief 
moment to the box wherein sat the dark-eyed 
girl. His heart leaped! she met his glance and 
smiled at him reassuringly. And in that mo¬ 
ment he felt that she knew him despite his dis¬ 
guise and looked to him to keep the honor of old 
Sherwood. He drew his bow firmly and, taking 
advantage of a momentary lull in the breeze, 
launched the arrow straight and true—singing 
across the range to the centre of the target. 

“The beggar! the beggar! a bull! a bull!” 
yelled the fickle mob, who from jeering him were 
now his warm friends. “Can you beat that, 
Blinder?” 

The last archer smiled scornfully and made 
ready. He drew his bow with ease and grace 
and, without seeming to study the course, re- 



ROBIN AN OUTLAW 


17 


leased the winged arrow. Forward it leaped 
toward the target, and all eyes followed its 
flight. A loud uproar broke forth when it 
alighted, just without the centre and grazing the 
shaft sent by Rob. The stranger made a jesture 
of surprise when his own eyes announced the re¬ 
sult to him, but saw his error. He had not 
allowed for a fickle gust of wind which seized 
the arrow and carried it to one side. But for all 
that he was the first to congratulate the victor. 

“I hope we may shoot again,” quoth he. “In 
truth I care not for the golden bauble and wished 
to win it in despite of the Sheriff for whom I 
have no love. Now crown the lady of your 
choice.” And turning suddenly he was lost in 
the crowd, before Rob could utter what it was 
upon his lips to say, that he would shoot again 
with him. 

And now the herald summoned Rob to the 
Sheriff’s box to receive the prize. 

“You are a curious fellow enough,” said the 
Sheriff biting his lip coldly; “yet you shoot well. 
What name go you by ?” 

Marian sat near and was listening intently. 

“I am called Rob the Stroller, my Lord 
Sheriff,” said the archer. 

Marian leaned back and smiled. 

“Well, Rob the Stroller, with a little attention 
to your skin and clothes you would not be so 


18 


ROBIN HOOD 


bad a man,” said the Sheriff. “How like you 
the idea of entering my service?” 

“Rob the Stroller has ever been a free man, 
my Lord, and desires no service.” 

The Sheriff’s brow darkened yet for the sake 
of his daughter and the golden arrow he dis¬ 
sembled. 

“Rob the Stroller,” said he, “here is the 
golden arrow which has been offered to the best 
of archers this day. You are awarded the prize. 
See that you bestow it worthily.” 

At this point the herald nudged Rob and half 
inclined his head toward the Sheriff’s daughter, 
who sat with a thin smile upon her lips. But 
Rob heeded him not. He took the arrow and 
strode to the next box where sat Maid Marian. 

“Lady,” he said, “pray accept this little pledge 
from a poor stroller who would devote the best 
shafts in his quiver to serve you.” 

“My thanks to you, Rob in tbe Hood,” re¬ 
plied she with a roguish twinkle in her eye; and 
she placed the gleaming arrow in her head, while 
the people shouted, “The Queen! the Queen!” 

The Sheriff glowered furiously upon this rag¬ 
ged archer who had refused his service, taken his 
prize without a word of thanks, and snubbed his 
daughter. He would have spoken, but his proud 
daughter restrained him. He called to his guard 
and bade them watch the beggar. But Rob had 


ROBIN AN OUTLAW 


19 


already turned swiftly, lost himself in the throng, 
and headed straight for the town gate. 

That same evening within a forest glade a 
group of men—some twoscore clad in Lincoln 
green—sat round a fire roasting venison and 
making merry. Suddenly a twig crackled and 
they sprang to their feet and seized their 
weapons. 

“I look for the widow’s sons,” a clear voice 
said, “and I come alone.” 

Instantly the three men stepped forward. 

“ Tis Rob!” they cried; “welcome to Sher¬ 
wood Forest, Rob!” And all the men came and 
greeted him; for they had heard his story. 

Then one of the widow’s sons, Stout Will, 
stepped forth and said: 

“Comrades all, ye know that our band has 
sadly lacked a leader—one of birth, breeding, and 
skill. Belike we have found that leader in this 
young man. And I and my brothers have told 
him that the band would choose that one who 
should bring the Sheriff to shame this day and 
capture his golden arrow. Is it not so?” 

The band gave assent. 

Will turned to Rob. “What news bring you 
from Nottingham town?” asked he. 

Rob laughed. “In truth I brought the Sheriff 
to shame for mine own pleasure and won his 
golden arrow to boot. But as to the prize ye 



20 


ROBIN HOOD 


must e’en take my word, for I bestowed it upon 
a maid.” 

And seeing the men stood in doubt at this, 
he continued: “But I’ll gladly join your band, 
an you take me, as a common archer. For 
there are others older and mayhap more skilled 
than I.” 

Then stepped one forward from the rest, a 
tall swarthy man. And Rob recognized him 
as the man with the green blinder; only this 
was now removed, and his freed eye gleamed as 
stoutly as the other one. 

“Rob in the Hood—for such the lady called 
you,”—said he, “I can vouch for your tale. You 
shamed the Sheriff e’en as I had hoped to do; 
and we can forego the golden arrow since it is in 
such fair hands. As to your shooting and mine, 
we must let future days decide. But here I, 
Will Stutely, declare that I will serve none other 
chief save only you.” 

Then good Will Stutely told the outlaws of 
Rob’s deeds, and gave him his hand of fealty. 
And the widow’s sons did likewise and the other 
members, every one, right gladly; because Will 
Stutely had heretofore been the truest bow in all 
the company. And they toasted him in nut 
brown ale, and hailed him as their leader, by the 
name of Robin Hood. And he accepted that 
name because Maid Marian had said it. 


ROBIN AN OUTLAW 


21 


By the light of the camp-fire the band ex¬ 
changed signs and passwords. They gave 
Robin Hood a horn upon which he was to blow 
to summon them. They swore, also, that while 
they might take money and goods from the un¬ 
just rich, they would aid and befriend the poor 
and the helpless; and that they would harm no 
woman, be she maid, wife, or widow. They 
swore all this with solemn oaths, while they 
feasted about the ruddy blaze, under the green¬ 
wood tree. 

And that is how Robin Hood became an out¬ 
law. 


CHAPTER II 


HOW ROBIN HOOD MET LITTLE 

JOHN 


“O here is my hand,” the stranger reply’d, 

“I’ll serve you with all my whole heart: 

My name is John Little, a man of good mettle; 

Ne’er doubt me for I’ll play my part.” 

“His name shall be altered,” quoth William Stutely, 
“And I will hi3 godfather be: 

Prepare then a feast, and none of the least, 

For we will be merry,” quoth he. 

A LL that summer Robin Hood and his 
merry men roamed in Sherwood Forest, 
and the fame of their deeds ran abroad in 
the land. The Sheriff of Nottingham waxed 
wroth at the report but all his traps and ex¬ 
cursions failed to catch the outlaws. The poor 
people began by fearing them, but when they 
found that the men in Lincoln green who an¬ 
swered Robin Hood’s horn meant them no harm, 
but bespoiled the oppressor to relieve the op¬ 
pressed, they gan to have great liking for them. 
And the band increased by other stout hearts 
till by the end of the summer fourscore good 
men and true had sworn fealty. 

But the days of quiet which came on grew 
irksome to Robin’s adventurous spirit. Up 

(22) 




ROBIN AND LITTLE JOHN 


23 


rose he one gay morn, and slung his quiver over 
his shoulders. 

“This fresh breeze stirs the blood, my 
lads,” quoth he, “and I would be seeing what 
the gay world looks like in the direction of 
Nottingham town. But tarry ye behind in the 
borders of the forest, within earshot of my bugle 
call.” 

Thus saying he strode merrily forward to the 
edge of the wood, and paused there a moment, 
his agile form erect, his brown locks flowing and 
his brown eyes watching the road; and a goodly 
sight he made, as the wind blew the ruddy color 
into his cheeks. 

The highway led clear in the direction of the 
town and thither he boldly directed his steps. 
But at a bend in the road he knew of a by-path 
leading across a brook which made the way 
nearer and less open, into which he turned. As 
he approached the stream he saw that it had be¬ 
come swollen by recent rains into quite a pretty 
torrent. The log foot-bridge was still there, but 
at this end of it a puddle intervened which could 
be crossed only with a leap, if you would not 
get your feet wet. 

But Robin cared little for such a handicap. 
Taking a running start, his nimble legs carried 
him easily over and balanced neatly upon the 
end of the broad log. But he was no sooner 


24 


ROBIN HOOD 


started across than ne saw a tall stranger coming 
from the other side. Thereupon Robin quick¬ 
ened his pace, and the stranger did likewise, 
each thinking to cross first. Midway they met, 
and neither would yield an inch. 

“Give way, fellow!” roared Robin, whose 
leadership of a band, I am afraid, had not tended 
to mend his manners. 

The stranger smiled. He was almost a head 
taller than the other. 

“Nay,” he retorted, “fair and softly! I give 
way only to a better man than myself.” 

“Give way, I say,” repeated Robin, “or I shall 
have to show you a better man.” 

His opponent budged not an inch but laughed 
loudly. “Now by my halidom!” he said good- 
naturedly, “I would not move after hearing that 
speech, even if minded to it before; for this bet¬ 
ter man have I sought my life long. Therefore 
show him to me an it please you.” 

“That will I right soon,” quoth Robin plant¬ 
ing his feet sturdily apart. “I’ll show you right 
Nottingham play.” 

And with that Robin Hood drew a broad, 
goose-wing arrow from his quiver, and set it 
to the string of his bow; then aimed the shaft 
full at the big fellow’s breast. But the other 
merely laughed in scorn. 



ROBIN HOOD AIMED THE SHAFT FULL AT LITTLE JOHN 














ROBIN AND LITTLE JOHN 


25 


“I’ll tan your hide for you, if you offer to 
loose that string,” he said quietly. 

“You prate like an ass.” said Robin. “For 
were I but to bend my bow I could send a shaft 
through your heart before you could strike a 
single blow.” 

“You talk like a coward,” retorted the 
stranger. “You are well armed with a long bow, 
while I have nought but a staff in my hand.” 

“I scorn the name of coward,” said Robin, be¬ 
ginning to feel ashamed of himself. “I’ll lay 
by my long bow and fight you on even terms. 
Bide you here a little while till I cut me a cudgel 
like unto that you have been twiddling in your 
fingers.” So saying he sought his own bank 
again with a leap, laid aside his long bow and 
arrows, and cut him a stout staff of oak, straight, 
knotless, and a good six feet in length. But still 
it was a full foot shorter than his opponent’s. 
Then back came he boldly. 

“I mind not telling you, fellow,” said he, “that 
a bout with archery would have been an easier 
way with me. But there are other tunes in Eng¬ 
land besides that the arrow sings.” Here he 
whirred the staff about his head by way of prac¬ 
tice. “So make you ready for the tune I am 
about to play upon your ribs. Have at you! 
One, two-” 



26 


ROBIN HOOD 


“Three!” roared the giant smiting at him in¬ 
stantly. 

Well was it for Robin that he was quick and 
nimble of foot; for the blow that grazed a hair’s 
breadth from his shoulder would have felled an 
ox. Nevertheless while swerving to avoid this 
stroke, Robin was poising for his own, and back 
came he forthwith—whack! 

Whack! parried the other. 

Whack! whack! whack! whack! 

The fight waxed fast and furious. It was 
strength pitted against sublety and the match 
was a merry one. The mighty blows of the 
stranger went whistling around Robin’s ducking 
head, while his own swift undercuts were fain to 
give the other an attack of indigestion. Yet 
each stood firmly in his place not moving back¬ 
ward or forward a foot for a good half hour, 
nor thinking of crying “Enough!” though some 
chance blow seemed likely to knock one or the 
other off the narrow foot-bridge. The giant’s 
face was getting red and his breath came snort¬ 
ing forth like a bull’s. He stepped forward with 
a furious onslaught to finish this audacious fel¬ 
low. Robin dodged his blows lightly, then 
sprang in swiftly and unexpectedly and dealt the 
stranger such a blow upon the short ribs that 
you would have sworn the tanner was trimming 
down his hides for market. 


ROBIN AND LITTLE JOHN 


27 


The stranger reeled and came within an ace of 
falling, but regained his footing right quickly. 

“By my life, you can hit hard!” he gasped 
forth, giving back a blow almost while he was 
yet staggering. 

This blow was a lucky one. It caught Robin 
off his guard. His stick had rested a moment 
while he looked to see the giant topple into the 
water, when down came the other upon his 
head, whack! Robin saw more stars in that one 
moment than all the astronomers have since dis¬ 
covered, and forthwith he dropped neatly into 
the stream. 

The cool rushing current quickly brought him 
to his senses, howbeit he was still so dazed that 
he groped blindly for the swaying reeds to pull 
himself up on the bank. His assailant could not 
forbear laughing heartily at his plight, but was 
also quick to lend his aid. He thrust down his 
long staff to Robin crying, “Lay hold of that, an 
your fists whirl not so much as your head!” 

Robin laid hold and was hauled to dry land 
for all the world like a fish, except that the fish 
would never have come forth so wet and drip¬ 
ping. He lay upon the warm bank for a space 
to regain his senses. Then he sat up and 
gravely rubbed his pate. 

“By all the saints!” said he, “you hit full 


28 


ROBIN HOOD 


stoutly. My head hums like a hive of bees on a 
summer morning.” 

Then he seized his horn, which lay near, and 
blew thereon three shrill notes that echoed against 
the trees. A moment of silence ensued, and then 
was heard the rustling of leaves and crackling of 
twigs like the coming of many men; and forth 
from the glade burst a score or two of stalwart 
yeomen, all clad in Lincoln green, like Robin, 
with good Will Stutely and the widow’s three 
sons at their head. 

“Good master,” cried Will Stutely, “how is 
this ? In sooth there is not a dry thread on your 
body.” 

“Why, marry,” replied Robin, “this fellow 
would not let me pass the foot-bridge, and when 
I tickled him in the ribs, he must needs answer 
by a pat on the head which landed me over¬ 
board.” 

“Then shall he taste some of his own por¬ 
ridge,” quoth Will. “Seize him, lads! He shall 
have a proper ducking!” 

“Nay, let him go free,” said Robin. “He’s a 
stout fellow. Forbear, the fight was a fair one 
and I abide by it. I surmise you also are quits?” 
he continued turning to the stranger with a 
twinkling eye. 

“I am content,” said the other, “for verily you 
now have the best end of the cudgel. Where- 


ROBIN AND LITTLE JOHN 29 


fore, I like you well, and would fain know your 
name.” 

“Why,” said Robin, “ my men and even the 
Sheriff of Nottingham know me as Robin Hood, 
the outlaw.” 

Then am I right sorry that I beat you,” ex¬ 
claimed the man, “for I was on my way to seek 
you and to try to join your merry company. But 
after my unmannerly use of the cudgel, I fear we 
are still strangers.” 

“Nay, never say it!” cried Robin, “I am glad 
I fell in with you; though, sooth to say, I did all 
the falling!” 

And amid a general laugh the two men clasped 
hands, and in that clasp the strong friendship of 
a lifetime was begun. 

“But you have not yet told us your name,” 
said Robin, bethinking himself. 

“Whence I came, men call me John Little. 
An you will let me join your band, ne’er doubt 
me, I’ll play my part.” 

“Enter our company then, John Little; enter 
and welcome. The rites are few, the fee is large. 
We ask your whole mind and body and heart 
even unto death.” 

“I give the bond, upon my life,” said he. 

Thereupon Will Stutely, who loved a good 
jest, spoke up and said: “ The infant in our 
household must be christened, and I’ll stand god- 


30 


ROBIN HOOD 


father. This fair little stranger is so small of 
bone and sinew, that his old name is not to the 
purpose.” Here he paused long enough to fill a 
horn in the stream. “Hark ye, my son,”—stand¬ 
ing on tiptoe to splash the water on the giant— 
“take your new name on entering the forest. I 
christen you Little John.” 

At this jest the men roared long and loud. 

“Give him a bow, and find a full sheath of ar¬ 
rows for Little John,” said Robin joyfully. “Can 
you shoot as well as fence with the staff, my 
friends?” 

“I have hit an ash twig at forty yards,” said 
Little John. 

Thus chatting pleasantly the band turned back 
into the woodland and sought their secluded dell, 
where the trees were the thickest, the moss was 
the softest, and a secret path led to a cave, at 
once a retreat and a stronghold. Here under a 
mighty oak they found the rest of the band, some 
of whom had come in with a brace of fat does. 
And here they built a ruddy fire and sat down to 
the meat and ale, Robin Hood in the centre with 
Will Stutely on the one hand and Little John on 
the other. And Robin was right well pleased 
with the day’s adventure, even though he had got 
a drubbing; for sore ribs and heads will heal, and 
’tis not every day that one can find a recruit as 
stout of bone and true of soul as Little John. 


CHAPTER III 


HOW ROBIN HOOD TURNED 
BUTCHER, AND ENTERED 
THE SHERIFF S 
SERVICE 

The butcher he answered jolly Robin, 

“No matter where I do dwell, 

For a butcher am I, and to Nottingham 
Am I going, my flesh to sell.” 

T HE next morning the weather had turned 
ill and Robin Hood’s band stayed close 
to their dry and friendly cave. The third 
day brought a diversion in the shape of a trap 
by a roving party of the Sheriff’s men. A fine 
stag had been struck down by one of Will 
Stutely’s fellows, and he and others had stepped 
forth from the covert to seize it, when twenty 
bowmen from Nottingham appeared at the end 
of the glade. Down dropped Will’s men on 
all fours, barely in time to hear a shower of 
arrows whistle above their heads. Then from 
behind the friendly trees they sent back such a 
welcome that the Sheriff’s men deemed it pru¬ 
dent not to tarry in their steps. Two of them, in 
sooth, bore back unpleasant wounds in their 

shoulders, from the encounter. 

( 31 ) 


32 


ROBIN HOOD 


When they returned to town the Sheriff waxed 
red with rage. 

“What,” he gasped, “do my men fear to fight 
this Robin Hood, face to face? Would that I 
could get him within my reach, once. We should 
see then; we should see!” 

What it was the Sheriff would see, he did not 
state. But he was to have his wish granted in 
short space, and you and I will see how he prof¬ 
ited by it. 

The fourth day and the one following this 
friendly bout, Little John was missing. One of 
the men said that he saw him talking with a 
beggar, but did not know whither they had gone. 
Two more days passed. Robin grew uneasy. 
He did not doubt the faith of Little John, but he 
was fearful lest a roving band of Foresters had 
captured him. 

At last Robin could not remain quiet. Up 
sprang he, with bow and arrows, and a short 
sword at his side. 

“I must away to Nottingham town, my men,” 
he cried. “The goodly Sheriff has long de¬ 
sired to see me; and mayhap he can tell me 
tidings of the best quarter-staff in the shire”— 
meaning Little John. 

Others of the band besought him to let them 
go with him, but he would not. 

“Nay,” he said smilingly, “the Sheriff and I 


ROBIN TURNS BUTCHER 


33 


are too good friends to put doubt upon our meet¬ 
ing. But tarry ye in the edge of the wood op¬ 
posite the west gate of the town, and ye may be 
of service ere to-morrow night.” 

So saying he strode forward to the road lead¬ 
ing to Nottingham, and stood as before looking 
up and down to see if the way was clear. Back 
at a bend in the road he heard a rumbling and a 
lumbering, when up drove a stout butcher, whist¬ 
ling gayly, and driving a mare that sped slowly 
enough because of the weight of meat with which 
the cart was loaded. 

“A good morrow to you, friend,” hailed 
Robin. “Whence come you and where go you 
with your load of meat?” 

“A good morrow to you,” returned the 
butcher, civilly enough. “No matter where I 
dwell. I am but a simple butcher, and to Not¬ 
tingham am I going, my flesh to sell. ‘Tis Fair 
week, and my beef and mutton should fetch a fair 
penny,” and he laughed loudly at his jest. “But 
whence come you?” 

“A yeoman am I, from Lockesley town. Men 
call me Robin Hood.” 

“The saints forefend that you should treat me 
ill!” said the butcher in terror. “Oft have I 
heard of you, and how you lighten the purses of 
the fat priests and knights. But I am naught 
but a poor butcher, selling this load of meat, 


34 


ROBIN HOOD 


perchance, for enough to pay my quarter’s rent.” 

“Rest you, my friend, rest you,” quoth Robin, 
“not so much as a silver penny would I take 
from you, for I love an honest Saxon face and a 
fair name with my neighbors. But I would 
strike a bargain with you.” 

Here he took from his girdle a well-filled 
purse, and continued, “I would fain be a 
butcher, this day, and sell meat at Nottingham 
town. Could you sell me your meat, your cart, 
your mare, and your good-will, without loss, for 
four marks?” 

“Heaven bless ye, good Robin,” cried the 
butcher right joyfully, “that can I!” And he 
leaped down forthwith from the cart, and handed 
Robin the reins in exchange for the purse. 

“One moment more,” laughed Robin, “we 
must e’en change garments for the nonce. Take 
mine and scurry home quickly lest the King’s 
Foresters try to put a hole through this Lincoln 
green.” 

So saying he donned the butcher’s blouse and 
apron, and, climbing into the cart drove merrily 
down the road to the town. 

When he came to Nottingham he greeted the 
scowling gate-keeper blithely and proceeded to 
the market-place. Boldly he led his shuffling 
horse to the place where the butchers had their 
stalls. He had no notion of the price to ask for 


ROBIN TURNS BUTCHER 


35 


his meat, but put on a foolish and simple air as 
he called aloud his wares:— 

“Hark ye, lasses and dames, hark ye. 

Good meat come buy, come buy. 

Three pen’orths go for one penny. 

And a kiss is good, say I!” 

Now when the folk found what a simple 
butcher he was, they crowded around his cart; 
for he really did sell three times as much for one 
penny as was sold by the other butchers. And 
one or two serving-lasses with twinkling eyes 
liked his comely face so well that they willingly 
gave boot of a kiss. 

But the other butchers were wroth when they 
found how he was taking their trade; and they 
accordingly put their heads together. 

One said, “He is a prodigal and has sold his 
father’s land, and this is his first venture in 
trading.” 

Another said, “He is a thief who has mur¬ 
dered a butcher and stolen his horse and meat.” 

Robin heard these sayings, but only laughed 
merrily and sang his song the louder. His good- 
humor made the people laugh also and crowd 
round his cart closely, shouting uproariously 
when some buxom lass submitted to be kissed. 

Then the butchers saw that they must meet 
craft with craft; and they said to him, “Come, 
brother butcher, if you would sell meat with us, 


36 


ROBIN HOOD 


you must e’en join our guild and stand by the 
rules of our trade.” 

“We dine at the Sheriff’s mansion to-day,” 
said another, “and you must make one of our 
party.” 

‘‘Accurst of his heart,” said jolly Robin 
“That a butcher doth deny. 

I’ll go with you, my brethren true, 

And as fast as I can hie.” 

Whereupon, having sold all his meat, he left 
his horse and cart in charge of a friendly hostler 
and prepared to follow his mates to the Mansion 
House. 

It was the Sheriff’s custom to dine various 
guilds of the trade, from time to time, on Fair 
days, for he got a pretty profit out of the fees 
they paid him for the right to trade in the 
market-place. The Sheriff was already come 
with great pomp into the banqueting room, 
when Robin Hood and three or four butch¬ 
ers entered, and he greeted them all with 
great condescension; and presently the whole of 
a large company was seated at a table groaning 
beneath the good cheer of the feast. 

Now the Sheriff bade Robin sit by his right 
hand, at the head of the board; for one or two 
butchers had whispered to the official, “That fel¬ 
low is a right mad blade, who yet made us much 
sport to-day. He sold more meat for one penny 


ROBIN TURNS BUTCHER 


37 


than we could sell for three; and he gave extra 
weight to whatsoever lass would buss him.” 
And others said, “He is some prodigal who 
knows not the value of goods, and may be 
plucked by a shrewd man right closely.” 

The Sheriff was willing to pluck a prodigal 
with the next man, and he was moreover glad to 
have a guest who promised to enliven the feast. 
So, as I have told you, he placed Robin by his 
side, and he made much of him and laughed 
boisterously at his jests; though sooth to say, the 
laugh were come by easily, for Robin had never 
been in a merrier mood, and his quips and jests 
soon put the whole table at a roar. 

Then my lord Bishop of Hereford came in, 
last of all, to say a ponderous grace and take his 
seat on the other side of the Sheriff—the prel¬ 
ate’s fat body showing up in goodly contrast to 
the other’s lean bones. 

After grace was said, and while the servants 
clattered in with the meat platters, Robin stood 
up and said: 

“An amen say I to my lord Bishop’s thanks! 
How, now, my fine fellows, be merry and drink 
deep; for the shot I’ll pay ere I go my way, 
though it cost me five pounds and more. So my 
lords and gentlemen all, spare not the wine, but 
fall to lustily.” 

“Hear! hear!” shouted the butchers. 


38 


ROBIN HOOD 


“Now are you a right jolly soul,” quoth the 
Sheriff, “but this feast is mine own. Howbeit 
you must have many a head of horned beasts, 
and many an acre of broad land, to spend from 
your purse so freely.” 

“Aye, that have I,” returned Robin, his eyes 
all a twinkle, “five hundred horned beasts have I 
and my brothers, and none of them have we 
been able to sell. That is why I have turned 
butcher. But I know not the trade, and would 
gladly sell the whole herd, an I could find a 
buyer.” 

At this, the Sheriff’s greed ’gan to rise. 
Since this fool would be plucked, thought he, 
why should not he do the plucking? 

“Five hundred beasts, say you?” he queried 
sharply. 

“Five hundred and ten fat beasts by actual 
count, that I would sell for a just figure. Aye, 
to him who will pay me in right money, would 
I sell them for twenty pieces of gold. Is that 
to much to ask lording?” 

Was there ever such an idiot butcher? thought 
the Sheriff; and he so far forgot his dignity as 
to nudge the Bishop in the fat ribs. 

“Nay, good fellow,” quoth he chuckling, “I 
am always ready to help any in my shire. An 
you cannot find a buyer for your herd at this 
just figure, I will e’en buy them myself.” 


ROBIN TURNS BUTCHER 39 


At this generosity Robin was quite overcome, 
and fell to praising the Sheriff to the skies, and 
telling him that he should not have cause to for¬ 
get the kindness. 

“Tut, tut,” said the Sheriff, “ ’tis naught but a 
trade. Drive in your herd to-morrow to the 
market-place and you shall have money down.” 

“Nay, excellence,” said Robin, “that can I not 
easily do, for they are grazing in scattered 
fashion. But they are over near Gamewell, not 
more than a mile therefrom at most. Will you 
not come and choose your own beasts to¬ 
morrow?” 

“Aye, that I will,” said the Sheriff, his cupid¬ 
ity casting his caution to the winds. “Tarry 
with me over night, and I will go with you in 
the morning.” 

This was a poser for Robin, since he liked not 
the idea of staying over night at the Sheriff’s 
house. He had hoped to appoint a meeting-place 
for the other, but now saw that this might excite 
doubt. He looked around at the company. By 
this time, you must know, the feast had pro¬ 
gressed far, and the butchers were deep in their 
cups. The Sheriff and Robin had talked in a 
low voice, and my lord Bishop was almost asleep. 

“Agreed,” said Robin presently, and the words 
were no sooner out of his mouth than the door 
opened and a serving-man entered bearing a 


ROBIN HOOD 


I 


40 


tray of mulled wine. At sight of the fellow’s 
face, Robin gave an involuntary start of surprise 
which was instantly checked. The other also 
saw him, stood still a moment, and as if forget¬ 
ting something turned about and left the hall. 

It was Little John. 

A dozen questions flashed across Robin’s 
mind, and he could find answer for none of 
them. What was Little John doing in the 
Sheriff’s house? Why had he not told the 
band? Was he true to them? Would he be¬ 
tray him? 

But these questions of distrust were dismissed 
from Robin’s open mind as soon as they had 
entered. He knew that Little John was faithful 
and true. 

He recovered his spirits and began again upon 
a vein of foolish banter, for the amusement of 
the Sheriff and his guests, all being now merry 
with wine. 

“A song!” one of them shouted, and the cry 
was taken up round the table. Robin mounted 
his chair and trolled forth: 

“A lass and a butcher of Nottingham 
Agreed ’twixt them for to wed: 

Says he, ‘I’ll give ye the meat, fair dame, 

An ye will give me the bread.’ ” 

Then they joined in the chorus amid a pound¬ 
ing of cups upon the board: 


i 


ROBIN TURNS BUTCHER 


41 


“With a hey and a ho 
And a hey nonny no, 

A butcher of Nottingham!” 

While the song was at its height, Little John 
reappeared, with other servants, and refilled the 
cups. He came up to Robin and, as if asking 
him if he would have more wine, said softly, 
“Meet me in the pantry to-night/’ 

Robin nodded, and sang loudly. The day 
was already far spent, and presently the company 
broke up with many hiccupy bows to the Sheriff 
and little notice of the drowsy Bishop. 

When the company was dispersed, the Sheriff 
bade a servant show Robin to his room, and 
promised to see him at breakfast the next day. 

Robin kept his word and met Little John that 
night, and the Sheriff next day; but Little John 
has been doing so much in the meantime that 
he must be allowed a chapter to himself. 

So let us turn to another story that was sung 
of, in the ballads of olden time, and find out 
how Little John entered the Sheriff’s service. 


CHAPTER IV 


HOW LITTLE JOHN ENTERED THE 
SHERIFF’S SERVICE 

List and hearken, gentlemen, 

All ye that now be here, 

Of Little John, that was Knight’s-man, 

Good mirth ye now shall hear. 


I T had come around another Fair day at 
Nottingham town, and folk crowded there 
by all the gates. Goods of many kinds 
were displayed in gaily colored booths, and at 
every cross-street a free show was in progress. 
Here and there, stages had been erected for the 
play at quarter-staff, a highly popular sport. 

There was a fellow, one Eric of Lincoln, who 
was thought to be the finest man with the staff 
for miles around. His feats were sung about in 
ballads through all the shire. A great boaster 
was he withal, and to-day he strutted about on 
one of these corner stages, and vaunted of his 
prowess, and offered to crack any man’s crown 
for a shilling. Several had tried their skill with 
Eric, but he had soon sent them spinning in no 
gentle manner, amid the jeers and laughter of 
the onlookers. 


( 42 ) 


THE SHERIFF’S SERVANT 


43 


A beggar-man sat over against Eric’s stage 
and grinned every time a pate was cracked. He 
was an uncouth fellow, ragged and dirty and 
unshaven. Eric caught sight of his leering 
face at one of his boasts—for there was a lull in 
the game, because no man else wanted to come 
within reach of Eric’s blows. Eric, I say, noticed 
the beggar-man grinning at him rather im¬ 
pudently, and turned toward him sharply. 

“How now, you dirty villain!” quoth he, 
“mend your manners to your betters, or, by our 
Lady, I’ll dust your rags for you.” 

The beggar-man still grinned. “I am always 
ready to mend my manners to my betters ” said 
he, “but I am afraid you cannot teach me any 
better than you can dust my jacket.” 

“Come up! Come up!” roared the other 
flourishing his staff. 

“That will I,” said the beggar getting up 
slowly and with difficulty. “It will pleasure me 
hugely to take a braggart down a notch, an 
some good man will lend me a stout quarter- 
staff.” 

At this a score of idlers reached him their 
staves—being ready enough to see another man 
have his head cracked, even if they wished to 
save their own—and he took the stoutest and 
heaviest of all. He made a sorry enough figure 
as he climbed awkwardly upon the stage, but 


44 


ROBIN HOOD 


when lie had gained it, lie towered full half a 
head above the other, for all his awkwardness. 
Nathless, he held his stick so clumsily that the 
crowd laughed in great glee. 

Now each man took his place and looked the 
other up and down, watching warily for an 
opening. Only a moment stood they thus, for 
Eric, intent on teaching this rash beggar a lesson 
and sweeping him speedily off the stage, 
launched forth boldly and gave the other a 
sounding crack on the shoulder. The beggar 
danced about, and made as though he would 
drop his staff from very pain, while the crowd 
roared and Eric raised himself for another crush¬ 
ing blow. But just then the awkward beggar 
came to life. Straightening himself like a flash 
he dealt Eric a back-handed blow, the like of 
which he had never before seen. Down went the 
boaster to the floor with a sounding thump, and 
the fickle people yelled and laughed themselves 
purple; for it was a new sight to see Eric of 
Lincoln eating dust. 

But he was up again almost as soon as he had 
fallen, and right quickly retreated to his own 
ringside to gather his wits and watch for an 
opening. He saw instantly that he had no easy 
antagonist, and he came in cautiously this time. 

And now those who stood around saw the 
merriest game of quarter-staff that was ever 


THE SHERIFF S SERVANT 


45 


played inside the walls of Nottingham town. 
Both men were on their guard and fenced with 
fine skill, being well matched in prowess. Again 
and again did Eric seek to force an opening 
under the other’s guard, and just as often were 
his blows parried. The beggar stood sturdily in 
his tracks contenting himself with heating off the 
attack. For a long time their blows met like the 
steady crackling of some huge forest fire, and 
Eric strove to be wary, for he now knew that the 
other had no mean wits or mettle. But he grew 
right mad at last, and began to send down blows 
so fierce and fast that you would have sworn a 
great hail-storm was pounding on the shingles 
over your head. Yet he never so much as en¬ 
tered the tall beggar’s guard. 

Then at last the stranger saw his chance and 
changed his tune of fighting. With one up¬ 
ward stroke he sent Eric’s staff whirling through 
the air. With another he tapped Eric on the 
head; and, with a third broad swing, ere the other 
could recover himself, he swept him clear off the 
stage, much as you would brush a fly off the 
window pane. 

Now the people danced and shouted and made 
so much ado that the shop-keepers left their 
stalls and others came running from every di¬ 
rection. The victory of the queer beggar made 
him immensely popular. Eric had been a great 


46 


ROBIN HOOD 


bully, and many had suffered defeat and insult at 
his hand. So the ragged stranger found money 
and food and drink everywhere at his disposal, 
and he feasted right comfortably till the after¬ 
noon. 

Then a long-bow contest came on, and to 
it the beggar went with some of his new friends. 
It was held in the same arena that Robin had 
formerly entered; and again the Sheriff and lords 
and ladies graced the scene with their presence, 
while the people crowded to their places. 

When the archers had stepped forward, the 
herald rose and proclaimed the rules of the game: 
how that each man should shoot three shots, and 
to him who shot best the prize of a yoke of fat 
steers should belong. A dozen keen-eyed bow¬ 
men were there, and among them some of the 
best fellows in the Forester’s and Sheriff’s com¬ 
panies. Down at the end of the line towxred 
the tall beggar-man, who must needs twang a 
bow-string with the best of them. 

The Sheriff noted his queer figure and asked: 
“Who is that ragged fellow?” 

“ ’Tis he that hath but now so soundly cracked 
the crown of Eric of Lincoln,” was the reply. 

The shooting presently began, and the targets 
soon showed a fine reckoning. Last of all came 
the beggar’s turn. 


THE SHERIFF’S SERVANT 47 


“By your leave,” he said loudly, “I’d like it 
well to shoot with any other man here present 
at a mark of my own placing.” And he strode 
down the lists with a slender peeled sapling 
which he stuck upright in the ground. “There,” 
said he, “is a right good mark. Will any man 
try it?” 

But not an archer would risk his reputation on 
so small a target. Whereupon the beggar drew 
his bow with seeming carelessness and split the 
wand with his shaft. 

“Long live the beggar!” yelled the by¬ 
standers. 

The Sheriff swore a full great oath, and said: 
“This man is the best archer that ever yet I saw.” 
And he beckoned to him, and asked him: “How 
now, good fellow, what is your name, and in 
what country were you born?” 

“In Holderness I was born,” the man replied; 
“men call me Reynold Greenleaf.” 

“You are a sturdy fellow, Reynold Greenleaf, 
and deserve better apparel than that you wear at 
present. Will you enter my service ? I will give 
you twenty marks a year, above your living, and 
three good suits of clothes.” 

“Three good suits, say you? Then right 
gladly will I enter your service, for my back has 
been bare this many a long day.” 


48 


ROBIN HOOD 


Then Reynold turned him about to the crowd 
and shouted: “Hark ye, good people, I have 
entered the Sheriff’s service, and need not the 
yoke of steers for prize. So take them for your¬ 
selves, to feast withal.” 

At this the crowd shouted more merrily than 
ever, and threw their caps high into the air. 
And none so popular a man had come to Not¬ 
tingham town in many a long day as this same 

Revnold Greenleaf. 

* 

Now you may have guessed, by this time, who 
Reynold Greenleaf really was; so I shall tell you 
that he was none other than Little John. And 
forth went he to the Sheriff’s house, and entered 
his service. But it was a sorry day for the 
Sheriff when he got his new man. For Little 
John winked his shrewd eye and said softly to 
himself: “By my faith, I shall be the worst serv¬ 
ant to him that ever yet had he!” 

Two days passed by. Little John, it must be 
confessed, did not make a good servant. He in¬ 
sisted upon eating the Sheriff’s best bread and 
drinking his best wine, so that the steward 
waxed wroth. Nathless the Sheriff held him in 
high esteem, and made great talk of taking him 
along on the next hunting trip. 

It was now the day of the banquet to the 
butchers, about which we have already heard. 


THE SHERIFF’S SERVANT 49 


The banquet hall, you must know, was not in 
the main house, but connected with it by a 
corridor. All the servants were bustling about 
making preparations for the feast, save only 
Little John, who must needs lie abed the greater 
part of the day. But he presented himself at last, 
when the dinner was half over; and being de¬ 
sirous of seeing the guests for himself he went 
into the hall with the other servants to pass the 
wine. First, however, I am afraid that some of 
the wine passed his own lips while he went down 
the corridor. 

When he entered the banqueting hall, whom 
should he see but Robin Hood himself. We can 
imagine the start of surprise felt by each of these 
bold fellows upon seeing the other in such strange 
company. But they kept their secrets, as we have 
seen, and arranged to meet each other that same 
night. Meanwhile, the proud Sheriff little knew 
that he harbored the two chief outlaws of the 
whole countryside beneath his roof. 

After the feast was over and night was begin¬ 
ning to advance, Little John felt faint of stomach 
and remembered him that he had eaten nothing 
all that day. Back went he to the pantry to see 
what eatables were laid by. But there, locking 
up the stores for the night, stood the fat steward. 

“Good Sir Steward,” said Little John, “ give 


50 


ROBIN HOOD 


me to dine for it is long for Greenleaf to be 
fasting.” 

The steward looked grimly at him and rattled 
the keys at his girdle. 

“Sirrah lie-abed,” quoth he, “ ’tis late in the 
day to be talking of eating. Since you have 
waited thus long to he hungry, you can e’en take 
your appetite back to bed again.” 

“Now by mine appetite that will I not do,” 
cried Little John. “Your own paunch of fat 
would be enough for any bear to sleep on through 
the winter. But my stomach craves food, and 
food it shall have!” 

Saying this he brushed past the steward and 
tried the door, but it was locked fast; whereat 
the fat steward chuckled and jangled his keys 
again. 

Then was Little John right mad, and he 
brought down his huge fist on the door-panel 
with a sledge-hammer blow that shivered an open¬ 
ing you could thrust your hand into. Little John 
stooped and peered through the hole to see what 
food lay within reach, when crack! went the 
steward’s keys upon his crown, and that worthy 
danced around him playing a tattoo that made 
Little John’s ears ring. At this he turned upon 
the steward and gave him such a rap that his 
back went nigh in two, and over went the fat fel¬ 
low rolling on the floor. 



LITTLE JOHN RAIDS THE PANTRY. 









THE SHERIFF’S SERVANT 51 


“Lie there,” quoth Little John, ‘till ye find 
strength to go to bed. Meanwhile, I must be 
about my dinner.” And he kicked open the 
buttery door without ceremony and brought to 
light a venison pasty and cold roast pheasant— 
goodly sights to a hungry man. Placing these 
down on a convenient shelf he fell to with right 
good will. So Little John ate and drank as much 
as he would. 

Now the Sheriff had in his kitchen a cook, 
a stout man and bold, who heard the rumpus and 
came in to see how the land lay. There stood 
Little John leaning comfortably against the side¬ 
board and eating away for dear life, while the 
fat steward was rolled under the table like a 
bundle of rags. 

“I make my vow!” said the cook, “you are 
a shrewd hind to dwell thus in a household, and 
ask thus to dine.” So saying he laid aside his 
spit and drew a good sword that hung at his side. 

“I make my vow!” said Little John, “you 
are a bold man and hardy to come thus between 
me and my meat. So defend yourself and see 
that you prove the better man.” And he drew 
his own sword and crossed weapons with the 
cook. 

Then back and forth they clashed with sullen 
sound. The old ballad which tells of their fight 
says that they thought nothing for to flee, but 


52 


ROBIN HOOD 


stiffly for to stand. There they fought sore to¬ 
gether, two miles away and more, but neither 
might the other harm for the space of a full hour. 

“I make my vow!” cried Little John, “you 
are the best swordsman that ever yet I saw. 
What say you to resting a space and eating and 
drinking good health with me. Then we may 
fall to again with the swords.” 

“Agreed!” said the cook, who loved good 
fare as well as a good fight; and they both laid 
by their swords and fell to the food with hearty 
will. The venison pasty soon disappeared, and 
the roast pheasant flew at as lively a rate as ever 
the bird itself had sped. Then the warriors rested 
a space and patted their stomachs, and smiled 
across at each other like bosom friends; for a 
man when he has dined looks out pleasantly upon 
the world. 

“And now good Reynold Greenleaf,” said the 
cook, “we may as well settle this brave fight we 
have in hand.” 

“A true saying,” rejoined the other, “but first 
tell me, friend,—for I protest you are my friend 
henceforth—what is the score we have to settle?” 

“Naught save who can handle the sword best,” 
said the cook. “By my troth I had thought to 
carve you like a capon ere now.” 

“And I had long since thought to shave your 
ears,” replied Little John. “This bout we can 


THE SHERIFF S SERVANT 53 


settle in right good time. But just now I and my 
master have need of you, and you can turn your 
stout blade to better service than that of the 
Sheriff.” 

“Whose service would that be?” asked the 
cook. 

“Mine,” answered a would-be butcher enter¬ 
ing the room, “and I am Robin Hood.” 


CHAPTER V 


HOW THE SHERIFF LOST THREE 
GOOD SERVANTS AND FOUND 
THEM AGAIN 

“Make good cheer,” said Robin Hood. 

“Sheriff! for charity! 

And for the love of Little John 
Thy life is granted thee!” 

T HE cook gasped in amazement. This 
Robin Hood! and under the Sheriff’s 
very roof! 

“Now by my troth you are a brave fellow,” 
he said. “I have heard great tales of your 
prowess, and the half has not been told. But 
who might this tall slasher be?” 

“Men do call me Little John, good fellow.” 
“Then Little John, or Reynold Greenleaf, I 
like you well, on my honor as Much the miller’s 
son; and you too, bold Robin Hood. An you 
take me, I will enter your service right gladly.” 

“Spoken like a stout man!” said Robin, seiz¬ 
ing him by the hand. “But I must back to my 
own bed, lest some sleepy warden stumble upon 
me, and I be forced to run him through. Lucky 
for you twain that wine flowed so freely in this 
house to-day; else the noise of your combat 

( 54 ) 


THREE GOOD SERVANTS 55 


would have brought other onlookers besides 
Robin Hood. Now if ye would flee the house 
to-night, I will join you in the good greenwood 
to-morrow.” 

“But, good master,” said the cook, “you 
would not stay here over night! Verily, it is 
running your head into a noose. Come with us. 
The Sheriff has set strict watch on all the gates, 
since ’tis Fair week, but I know the warden at 
the west gate and could bring us through safely. 
To-morrow you will be stayed.” 

“Nay, that will I not,” laughed Robin, “for 
I shall* go through with no less escort than the 
Sheriff himself. Now do you, Little John, and 
do you, Much the miller’s son, go right speedily. 
In the borders of the wood you will find my 
merry men. Tell them to kill two fine harts 
against to-morrow eve, for we shall have great 
company and lordly sport.” 

And Robin left them as suddenly as he had 
come. 

“Comrade,” then said Little John, “we may 
as well bid the Sheriff’s roof farewell. But ere 
we go, it would seem a true pity to fail to take 
such of the Sheriff’s silver plate as will cause us to 
remember him, and also grace our special feasts.” 

“ ’Tis well said indeed,” quoth the cook. 

Thereupon they got a great sack and filled it 
with silver plate from the shelves where it would 


56 


ROBIN HOOD 


not at once be missed, and they swung the sack 
between them, and away they went, out of the 
house, out of the town, and into the friendly 
shelter of Sherwood Forest. 

The next morning the servants were late astir 
in the Sheriff’s house. The steward awoke from 
a heavy sleep, but his cracked head was still in 
such a whirl that he could not have sworn 
whether the Sheriff had ever owned so much as 
one silver dish. So the theft went undiscovered 
for the nonce. 

Robin Hood met the Sheriff at breakfast, when 
his host soon spoke of what was uppermost in 
his heart—the purchase of that fine herd of cat¬ 
tle near Gamewell. ’Twas clear that a vision of 
them, purchased for twenty paltry gold pieces, 
had been with him all through the night, in his 
dreams. And Robin again appeared such a 
silly fellow that the Sheriff saw no need of dis¬ 
sembling, but said that he was ready to start at 
once to look at the herd. 

Accordingly they set forth, Robin astride a 
black horse from the Sheriff’s stables, and the 
Sheriff himself mounted on a spirited brown one. 
For he wanted to lose no time in striking a bar¬ 
gain with this silly fellow. Out of Nottingham 
town, through gates open wide, they proceeded, 
and took the hill road leading through Sherwood 
Forest. And as they went on and plunged 


THREE GOOD SERVANTS 


57 


deeper among the trees, Robin whistled blithely 
and sang snatches of tunes. 

“Why are you so gay, fellow?’’ said the Sher¬ 
iff, for, sooth to say, the silence of the woods was 
making him uneasy. 

“I am whistling to keep my courage up,” re¬ 
plied Robin. 

“What is there to fear, when you have the 
Sheriff of Nottingham beside you?” quoth the 
other pompously. 

Robin scratched his head. 

“They do say that Robin Hood and his men 
care little for the Sheriff,” he said. 

“Pooh!” said the Sheriff. “I would not give 
that for their lives, if I could only lay hands 
upon them.” And he snapped his fingers an- 

grily. 

“But Robin Hood himself was on this very 
road the last time I came to town,” said the other. 

The Sheriff started at the crackling of a twig 
under his horse’s feet and looked around. 

“Did you see him?” he asked. 

“Aye, that did I! He wanted the use of my 
mare and cart to drive to Nottingham. He said 
he would fain turn butcher. But see!” 

As he spoke he came to a turn in the road, 
and there before them stood a herd of the King’s 
deer, feeding. Robin pointed to them and con¬ 
tinued : 


58 


ROBIN HOOD 


“There is my herd of cattle, good Master 
Sheriff! How do you like them? Are they 
not fat and fair to see?” 

The Sheriff drew rein quickly. “Now fellow,” 
quoth he, “I would I were well out of this forest, 
for I care not to see such herds as these, or such 
faces as yours. Choose your own way, there¬ 
fore, whoever you be, and let me go mine.” 

“Nay,” laughed Robin, seizing the Sheriff’s 
bridle, “I have been at too much pains to culti¬ 
vate your company to forego it now so easily. 
Besides I wish you to meet some of my friends 
and dine with me, since you have so lately en¬ 
tertained me at your board.” 

So saying he clapped a horn to his lips and 
winded three merry notes. The deer bounded 
away; and before the last of them was seen, 
there came a running and a rustling, and out 
from behind covert and tree came full twoscore 
of men, clad in Lincoln green, and bearing good 
yew bows in their hands and short swords at 
their sides. Up they ran to Robin Hood and 
doffed their caps to him respectfully, while the 
Sheriff sat still from very amazement. 

“Welcome to the greenwood!” said one of 
the leaders, bending the knee with mock rever¬ 
ence before the Sheriff. 

The Sheriff glared. It was Little John. 



“THERE IS MY HERD OF CATTLE, GOOD MASTER SH ERIFF ' 






THREE GOOD SERVANTS 59 


“Woe the worth, Reynold Greenleaf,” he 
said, “you have betrayed me!” 

“I make my vow,” said Little John, “that 
you are to blame, master. I was misserved of 
my dinner, when I was at your house. But we 
shall set you down to a feast we hope you will 
enjoy.” 

“Well spoken, Little John,” said Robin Hood. 
“Take you his bridle and let us do honor to the 
guest who has come to feast with us.” 

Then turning abruptly the whole company 
plunged into the heart of the forest. 

After twisting and turning till the Sheriff’s 
bewildered head sat dizzily upon his shoulders, 
the greenwood men passed through a narrow 
alley amid the trees which led to a goodly open 
space flanked by wide-spreading oaks. Under 
the largest of these a pleasant fire was crackling, 
and near it two fine harts lay ready for cooking. 
Around the blaze were gathered another com¬ 
pany of yeomen quite as large as that which 
came with Robin Hood. Up sprang they as the 
latter advanced and saluted their leader with def¬ 
erence, but with hearty gladness to see him back 
again. 

The merry wag Will Stutely was in command; 
and when he saw the pale-faced Sheriff being led 
in like a culprit, he took his cloak and laid it 
humbly upon the ground and besought the 


60 


ROBIN HOOD 


Sheriff to alight upon it, as the ground of Sher¬ 
wood was unused to such dignitaries. 

“Bestir yourselves, good fellows!” cried Robin 
Hood; “and while our new cook, whom I see 
with us, is preparing a feast worthy of our high 
guest, let us have a few games to do him honor!” 

Then while the whole glade was filled with the 
savory smell of roasting venison and fat capons, 
and brown pasties warmed beside the blaze, and 
mulled wine sent forth a cordial fragrance, Robin 
Hood placed the Sheriff upon a knoll beneath 
the largest oak and sat himself down by him. 

First stepped forward several pairs of men 
armed with the quarter-staff, the widow’s sons 
among them, and so skilfully did they thrust and 
parry and beat down guards, that the Sheriff, 
who loved a good game as well as any man, 
clapped his hands, forgetting where he was, and 
shouted, “Well struck! well struck! Never have 
I seen such blows at all the Fairs of Notting¬ 
ham!” 

Then the best archers of the band set up a 
small wand at eightscore paces distant, and 
thereon they affixed a wreath of green. And the 
archers began to shoot; and he who shot not 
through the garland without disturbing its leaves 
and tendrils was fain to submit to a good sound 
buffet from Little John. But right cunning was 
the shooting, for the men had spent a certain 


THREE GOOD SERVANTS 61 


time in daily practice, and many were the shafts 
which sped daintily through the circle. Nath- 
less now and again some luckless fellow would 
shoot awry and would be sent winding from a 
long arm blow from the tall lieutenant while the 
glade roared with laughter. And none more 
hearty a guffaw was given than came from the 
Sheriff’s own throat, for the spirit of the green¬ 
wood was upon him. 

But presently his high mood was dashed. 
The company sat down to meat, and the guest 
was treated to two more disturbing surprises. 
The cook came forward to serve the food, when 
the Sheriff beheld in him his own former servant, 
and one whom he supposed was at that moment 
in the scullery at Nottingham. 

Much the miller’s son grinned by way of an¬ 
swer to the Sheriff’s amazement, and served the 
plates, and placed them before the party. Then 
did the Sheriff gasp and fairly choke with rage. 
The service was his own silverware from the 
Mansion House! 

“You rascals! you rogues!” he spluttered. 
“Was it not enough to defraud me out of three 
of my servants, that you must also rob me of my 
best silver service? Nay, by my life, but I will 
not touch your food!” 

But Robin Hood bade him pause. 


62 


ROBIN HOOD 


“Gramercy!” quoth he, “servants come and 
go, in merry England, and so does service. The 
platters are but used to do your worship honor. 
And as for your life, it is forfeit to your eager¬ 
ness to buy my herd of cattle so cheaply. Now 
sit you down again and make good cheer, Sheriff, 
for charity! And for the love of Little John 
your life is granted you!” 

So the Sheriff sat him down again with the 
best face he could assume, and soon the cook’s 
viands were disappearing down his gullet as rap¬ 
idly as the next man’s. And they feasted roy¬ 
ally and clinked each other’s cups until the sun 
had ceased to print the pattern of the leaves upon 
the forest carpet. 

Then the Sheriff arose and said: “I thank 
you, Robin Hood, one-time butcher, and you, 
Little John, one-time beggar, and you, Much, 
one-time cook, and all you good men who have 
entertained me in Sherwood so well. Promises 
I make not as to how I shall requite you when 
next you come to Nottingham, for I am in the 
King’ s service. So for the present the score rests 
with you. But the shadows grow long and I 
must away, if you will be pleased to pilot me to 
the road.” 

Then Robin Hood and all his men arose and 
drank the Sheriff’s health, and Robin said: “If 


THREE GOOD SERVANTS 63 


you must needs go at once we will not detain 
you—except that you have forgotten two things.” 

‘What may they be?” asked the Sheriff, while 
his heart sank within him. 

“You forget that you came with me to-day to 
buy a herd of horned beasts; likewise that he 
who dines at the Greenwood Inn must pay the 
landlord.” 

The Sheriff fidgetted like a small boy who has 
forgotten his lesson. 

“Nay, I have but a small sum with me,” he 
began apologetically. 

“What is that sum, gossip?” questioned Lit¬ 
tle John, “for my own wage should also come 
out of it!” 

“And mine!” said Much. 

“And mine!” smiled Robin. 

The Sheriff caught his breath. “By my 
troth, are all these silver dishes worth anything?” 

The outlaws roared heartily at this. 

“I’ll tell you what it is, worship,” said Robin, 
“we three rascally servants will compound our 
back wages for those plates. And we will keep 
the herd of cattle free for our own use—and the 
King’s. But this little tavern bill should be set¬ 
tled! Now, what sum have you about you?” 

“I have only those twenty pieces of gold, and 
twenty others,” said the Sheriff: and well it was 
that he told the truth for once, for Robin said: 


64 


ROBIN HOOD 


“Count it.” 

Little John turned the Sheriff’s wallet inside 
out, and the outlaws counted the booty. “’ Tis 
true enough,” he said. 

“Then you shall pay no more than twenty 
pieces for your entertainment, excellence,” de¬ 
creed Robin. “Speak I soothly, men of green¬ 
wood?” 

“Good!” echoed the others. 

“The Sheriff should swear by his patron saint 
that he will not molest us,” said Will Stutely; 
and this addition was carried unanimously. 

“So be it, then,” cried Little John approach¬ 
ing the Sheriff. “Now swear by your life and 
your patron saint-” 

“I will swear it by St. George, who is patron 
of us all,” said the Sheriff vigorously, “that I 
will never disturb or distress the outlaws in 
Sherwood.” 

“But let me catch any of you out of Sher¬ 
wood!” thought he to himself. 

Then the twenty pieces of gold were paid 
over, and the Sheriff once more prepared to 
depart. 

“Never had we so worshipful a guest before,” 
said Robin; “and as the new moon is begin¬ 
ning to silver the leaves, I shall bear you com¬ 
pany myself for part of the way. ’Twas I who 
brought you into the wood.” 



THREE GOOD SERVANTS 


65 


“Nay, I protest against your going needlessly 
far,” said the Sheriff. 

“But I protest that I am loath to lose your 
company,” replied Robin. “The next time I 
may not be so pleased.” 

And he took the Sheriff’s horse by the bridle 
rein, and led him through the lane and by many 
a thicket till the main road was reached. 

“Now fare you well, good Sheriff,” he said, 
“and when next you think to despoil a poor 
prodigal, remember the herd you would have 
bought over against Gamewell. And when next 
you employ a servant, make certain that he is 
not employing you.” 

So saying he smote the nag’s haunch, and off 
went the Sheriff upon the road to Nottingham. 

And that is how—you will find from many 
ballads that came to be sung at the Sheriff’s ex¬ 
pense, and which are known even to the present 
day,—that, I say, is how the Sheriff lost three 
good servants and found them again. 




CHAPTER VI 


HOW ROBIN HOOD MET WILL 

SCARLET 

The youngster was clothed in scarlet red, 

In scarlet fine and gay; 

And he did frisk it o’er the plain, 

And chanted a roundelay. 

O NE fine morning, soon after the proud 
Sheriff had been brought to grief, Robin 
Hood and Little John went strolling down 
a path through the wood. It was not far from 
the foot-bridge where they had fought their 
memorable battle; and by common impulse they 
directed their steps to the brook to quench their 
thirst and rest them in the cool bushes. The 
morning gave promise of a hot day. The road 
even by the brook was dusty. So the cooling 
stream was very pleasing and grateful to their 
senses. 

On each side of them, beyond the dusty high¬ 
way, stretched out broad fields of tender young 
corn. On the yon side of the fields uprose the 
sturdy oaks and beeches and ashes of the forest; 
while at their feet modest violets peeped out 
shyly and greeted the loiterers with an odor 
which made the heart glad. Over on the far 

( 66 ) 


WILL SCARLET 


67 


side of the brook in a tiny bay floated three 
lily-pads; and from amid some clover blossoms 
on the bank an industrious bee rose with the 
hum of busy contentment. It was a day so 
brimful of quiet joy that the two friends lay flat 
on their backs gazing up at the scurrying clouds, 
and neither caring to break the silence. 

Presently they heard some one coming up the 
road whistling gayly, as though he owned the 
whole world and ’twas but made to whistle in. 
Anon he chanted a roundelay with a merry note. 

“By my troth, a gay bird!” quoth Robin, 
raising up on his elbow. “Let us lie still, and 
trust that his purse is not as light as his heart.” 

So they lay still, and in a minute more up 
came a smart stranger dressed in scarlet and silk 
and wearing a jaunty hat with a curling cock 
feather in it. His whole costume was of scarlet, 
from the feather to the silk hosen on his 
legs. A goodly sword hung at his side, its 
scabbard all embossed with tilting knights and 
weeping ladies. His hair was long and yellow 
and hung clustering about his shoulders, for 
all the world like a schoolgirl’s; and he bore 
himself with as mincing a gait as the pertest of 
them. 

Little John clucked his teeth drolly at this 
sight. “By my troth, a gay bird!” he said 
echoing the other’s words—then added, “But 


68 


ROBIN HOOD 


not so bad a build for all his prettiness. Look 
you, those calves and thighs are well rounded 
and straight. The arms, for all that gold- 
wrought cloak, hang stoutly from full shoulders. 
I warrant you the fop can use his dainty sword 
right well on occasion.” 

“Nay,” retorted Robin, “he is naught hut a 
ladies’ man from court. My long-bow ’gainst a 
plugged shilling that he would run and bellow 
lustily at sight of a quarter-staff. Stay you be¬ 
hind this bush and I will soon get some rare 
sport out of him. Belike his silk purse may 
contain more pennies than the law allows to one 
man in Sherwood or Barnesdale.” 

So saying Robin Hood stepped forth briskly 
from the covert and planted himself in the way 
of the scarlet stranger. The latter had walked 
so slowly that he was scarce come to their rest¬ 
ing-place ; and now on beholding Robin he 
neither slackened nor quickened his pace but 
sauntered idly straight ahead, looking to the 
right and to the left, with the finest air in the 
world, but never once at Robin. 

“Hold!” quoth the outlaw. “What mean ye 
by running thus over a wayfarer, rough shod?” 

“Wherefore should I hold, good fellow?” said 
the stranger in a smooth voice, and looking at 
Robin for the first time. 

“Because I bid you to,” replied Robin. 



IT IS THE KING!” CRIED WILL SCARLET, FALLING UPON HIS KNEES 




WILL SCARLET 


69 


“And who may you be?” asked the other as 
coolly as you please. 

“What my name is matters not,” said Robin; 
“but know that I am a public tax-gatherer and 
equalizer of shillings. If your purse have more 
than a just number of shillings or pence, I must 
e’en lighten it somewhat; for there are many 
worthy people round about these borders who 
have less than the just amount. Wherefore, 
sweet gentleman, I pray you hand over your 
purse without more ado, that I may judge of its 
weight in proper fashion.” 

The other smiled as sweetly as though a lady 
were paying him a compliment. 

“You are a droll fellow,” he said calmly. 
“Your speech amuses me mightily. Pray con¬ 
tinue, if you have not done, for I am in no hurry 
this morning.” 

“I have said all with my tongue that is need¬ 
ful,” retorted Robin beginning to grow red under 
the collar. “Nathless, I have other arguments 
which may not be so pleasing to your dainty 
skin. Prithee, stand and deliver. I promise 
to deal fairly with the purse.” 

“Alack-a-day!” said the stranger with a little 
shrug of his shoulders; “I am deeply sorrowful 
that I cannot show my purse to every rough lout 
that asks to see it. But I really could not, as I 


70 


ROBIN HOOD 


have further need of it myself and every farthing 
it contains. Wherefore, pray stand aside.” 

‘‘Nay that will I not! and ’twill go the harder 
with you if you do not yield at once.” 

“Good fellow,” said the other gently, “have 
I not heard all your speech with patience? Now 
that is all I promised to do. My conscience is 
salved and I must go on my way. ‘T-rol-o- 
rol-e-loo!’ ” he caroled making as though to 
depart. 

“Hold, I say!” quoth Robin hotly; for he 
knew how Little John must be chuckling at this 
from behind the bushes. “Hold I say, else I 
shall have to bloody those fair locks of yours!” 
And he swung his quarter-staff threateningly. 

“Alas!” moaned the stranger shaking his 
head. “The pity of it all! Now I shall have 
to run this fellow through with my sword! And 
I had hoped to be a peaceable man henceforth!” 
And sighing deeply he drew his shining blade 
and stood on guard. 

“Put by your weapon,” said Robin. “It is too 
pretty a piece of steel to get cracked with a 
common oak cudgel; and that is what would 
happen on the first pass I made at you. Get you 
a stick like mine out of yon undergrowth and 
we will fight fairly, man to man.” 

The stranger thought a moment with his usual 
slowness, and eyed Robin from head to foot. 


WILL SCARLET 


71 


Then he unbuckled his scabbard, laid it and the 
sword aside, and walked deliberately over to the 
oak thicket. Choosing from among the shoots 
and saplings he found a stout little tree to his 
liking, when he laid hold of it, without stopping 
to cut it, and gave a tug. Up it came root and 
all, as though it were a stalk of corn, and the 
stranger walked back trimming it as quietly as 
though pulling up trees were the easiest thing in 
the world. 

Little John from his hiding-place saw the 
feat, and could hardly restrain a long whistle. 
“By our Lady!” he muttered to himself, “I 
would not be in Master Robin’s boots!” 

Whatever Robin thought upon seeing the 
stranger’s strength, he uttered not a word and 
budged not an inch. He only put his oak staff 
at parry as the other took his stand. 

There was a threefold surprise that day, by 
the brookside. The stranger and Robin and 
Little John in the bushes all found a combat that 
upset all reckoning. The stranger for all his easy 
strength and cool nerve found an antagonist who 
met his blows with the skill of a woodman. 
Robin found the stranger as hard to hit as though 
fenced in by an oak hedge. While Little John 
rolled over and over in silent joy. 

Back and forth swayed the fighters, their cud¬ 
gels pounding this way and that, knocking off 


72 


ROBIN HOOD 


splinters and bark, and threatening direst dam¬ 
age to bone and muscle and skin. Back and forth 
they pranced kicking up a cloud of dust and 
gasping for fresh air. From a little way off you 
would have vowed that these two men were try¬ 
ing to put out a fire, so thickly hung the cloud of 
battle over them. Thrice did Robin smite the 
scarlet man—with such blows that a less stout 
fellow must have bowled over. Only twice did 
the scarlet man smite, Robin, but the second blow 
was like to finish him. The first had been deliv¬ 
ered over the knuckles, and though ’twas a glanc¬ 
ing stroke it well nigh broke Robin’s fingers, so 
that he could not easily raise his staff again. 
And while he was dancing about in pain and 
muttering a dust-covered oath, the other’s staff 
came swinging through the cloud at one side— 
zip!—and struck him under the arm. Down 
went Robin as though he were a nine-pin—flat 
down into the dust of the road. But despite the 
pain he was bounding up again like an India- 
rubber man to renew the attack, when Little 
John interfered. 

“Hold!” said he bursting out of the bushes 
and seizing the stranger’s weapon. “Hold, I 
say!” 

“Nay,” retorted the stranger quietly, “I was 
not offering to smite him while he was down. 
But if there be a whole nest of you hatching here 


WILL SCARLET 


73 


by the waterside, cluck out the other chicks and 
I’ll make shift to fight them all.” 

“Not for all the deer in Sherwood!” cried 
Robin. “You are a good fellow and a gentle¬ 
man. I’ll fight no more with you, for verily I 
feel sore in wrist and body. Nor shall any of 
mine molest you henceforth.” 

Sooth to say, Robin did not look in good fight¬ 
ing trim. His clothes were coated with dirt, 
one of his hosen had slipped halfway down from 
his knee, the sleeve of his jerkin was split, and his 
face was streaked with sweat and dirt. Little 
John eyed him drolly. 

“How now, good master,” quoth he, “the 
sport you were to kick up has left you in sorry 
plight. Let me dust your coat for you.” 

“Marry, it has been dusted enough already,” 
replied Robin; “ and I now believe the Scripture 
saying that all men are but dust, for it has sifted 
me through and through and lined my gullet an 
inch deep. By your leave”—and he went to the 
brookside and drank deep and laved his face and 
hands. 

All this while the stranger had been eyeing 
Robin attentively and listening to his voice as 
though striving to recall it. 

“If I mistake not,” he said slowly at last, “you 
are the famous outlaw, Robin Hood of Barnes- 
dale.” 


74 


ROBIN HOOD 


“You say right,” replied Robin; “but my 
fame has been tumbling sadly about in the dust 
to-day.” 

“Now why did I not know you at once?” 
continued the stranger. “This battle need not 
have happened, for I came abroad to find you 
to-day, and thought to have remembered your 
face and speech. Know you not me, Rob, my 
lad? Hast ever been to Gamewell Lodge?” 

“Ha! Will Gamewell! my dear old chum. 
Will Gamewell!” shouted Robin throwing his 
arms about the other in sheer affection. “What 
an ass I was not to recognize you! But it has 
been years since we parted, and your gentle 
schooling has polished you off mightily.” 

Will embraced his cousin no less heartily. 

* 

“We are quits on not knowing kinsmen,” he said, 
“for you have changed and strengthened much 
from the stripling with whom I used to run foot 
races in old Sherwood.” 

“But why seek you me?” asked Robin. “You 
know I am an outlaw and dangerous company. 
And how left you mine uncle? and have you 
heard aught of late of—of Maid Marian?” 

“Your last question first,” answered Will, 
laughing, “for I perceive that it lies nearest your 
heart. I saw Maid Marian not many weeks after 
the great shooting at Nottingham, when you won 
her the golden arrow. She prizes the bauble 


WILL SCARLET 


75 


among her dearest possessions, though it has 
made her an enemy in the Sheriff’s proud daugh¬ 
ter. Maid Marian bade me tell you, if I ever 
saw you, that she must return to Queen Eleanor’s 
court, but she could never forget the happy days 
in the greenwood. As for the old Squire he is 
still hale and hearty, though rheumatic withal. 
He speaks of you as a sad young dog, but for all 
that is secretly proud of your skill at the bow and 
of the way you are pestering the Sheriff, whom he 
likes not. ’Tis for my father’s sake that I am 
now in the open, an outlaw like yourself. He 
has had a steward, a surly fellow enough, who, 
while I was away at school, boot-licked his way 
to favor until he lorded it over the whole house. 
Then he grew right saucy and impudent, but my 
father minded it not, deeming the fellow indis¬ 
pensable in managing the estate. But when I 
came back it irked me sorely to see the fellow 
strut about as though he owned the place. He 
was sly enough with me at first, and would brow¬ 
beat the Squire only while I was out of earshot. 
It chanced one day, however, that I heard loud 
voices through an open window and paused to 
hearken. That vile servant called my father 'a 
meddling old fool.’ ‘Fool and meddler art thou 
thyself, varlet,’ I shouted springing through the 
window, 'that for thy impudence!’ and in my 
heat I smote him a blow mightier than I in- 


76 


ROBIN HOOD 


tended, for I have some strength in mine arm. 
The fellow rolled over and never breathed after¬ 
wards. I think I broke his neck or something 
the like. Then I knew that the Sheriff would use 
this as a pretext to hound my father, if I tarried. 
So I bade the Squire farewell and told him I 
would seek you in Sherwood.” 

“Now by my halidom!” said Robin Hood; 
“for a man ’scaping the law, you take it about as 
coolly as one could wish. To see you come trip¬ 
ping along decked out in all your gay plumage 
and trolling forth a roundelay, one would think 
you had not a care in all the world. Indeed I 
remarked to Little John here that I hoped your 
purse was not as light as your heart.” 

“Belike you meant head” laughed Will; “and 
is this Little John the Great? Shake hands with 
me, an you will, and promise me to cross a staff 
with me in friendly bout some day in the forest!” 

“That will I!” quoth Little John heartily. 
“Here’s my hand on it. What is your last 
name again, say you?” 

“ ’Tis to be changed,” interposed Robin; “then 
shall the men armed with warrants go hang 
for all of us. Let me bethink myself. Ah!—I 
have it! In scarlet he came to us, and that shall 
be his name henceforth. Welcome to the green¬ 
wood, Will Scarlet!” 


WILL SCARLET 


77 


“Aye, welcome, Will Scarlet!” said Little 
John; and they all clasped hands again and 
swore to be true each to the other and to Robin 
Hood’s men in Sherwood Forest. 


CHAPTER VII 


HOW ROBIN HOOD MET FRIAR TUCK 

The friar took Robin Hood on his back, 

Deep water he did bestride, 

And spake neither good word nor had, 

Till he came to the other side. 

I N summer time when leaves grow green, 
and flowers are fresh and gay, Robin Hood 
and his merry men were all disposed to play. 
Thus runs a quaint old ballad which begins the 
next adventure. Then some would leap and 
some would run and some try archery and some 
ply the quarter-staff and some fall to with the 
good broad sword. Some again would try a 
round at buffet and fisticuff; and thus by every 
variety of sport and exercise they perfected 
themselves in skill and made the band and its 
prowess well known throughout all England. 

It had been a custom of Robin Hood’s to pick 
out the best men in all the countryside. When¬ 
ever he heard of one more than usually skilled in 
any feat of arms he would seek the man and test 
him in personal encounter—which did not al¬ 
ways end happily for Robin. And when he had 
found a man to his liking he offered him serv¬ 
ice with the bold fellows of Sherwood Forest. 

( 78 ) 


ROBIN AND FRIAR TUCK 79 


Thus it came about that one day after a 
practice at shooting, in which Little John struck 
down a hart at five hundred feet distance, Robin 
Hood was fain to boast. 

“God’s blessing on your heart!” he cried, 
clapping the burly fellow on the shoulder; “I 
would travel an hundred miles to find one 
who could match you!” 

At this Will Scarlet laughed full roundly. 

“There lives a curtal friar in Fountain’s Ab¬ 
bey—Tuck, by name—who can beat both him 
and you,” he said. 

Robin pricked up his ears at this free speech. 

“By our Lady,” he said, “I’ll neither eat nor 
drink till I see this same friar.” 

And with his usual impetuosity he at once 
set about arming himself for the adventure. On 
his head he placed a cap of steel. Underneath 
his Lincoln green he wore a coat of chain metal. 
Then with sword and buckler girded at his side 
he made a goodly show. But he also took with 
him his stout yew bow and a sheaf of chosen 
arrows. 

So he set forth upon his way with blithe heart; 
for it was a day when the whole face of the 
earth seemed glad and rejoicing in pulsing life. 
Steadily he pressed forward by winding ways till 
he came to a green broad pasture land at 
whose edge flowed a stream dipping in and out 



80 


ROBIN HOOD 


among the willows and rushes on the banks. A 
pleasant stream it was, but it flowed calmly as 
though of some depth in the middle. Robin did 
not fancy getting his feet wet, or his fine suit of 
mail rusted, so he paused on the hither bank to 
rest and take his bearings. 

As he sat down quietly under the shade of a 
drooping willow he heard snatches of a jovial 
song floating to him from the farther side; then 
came a sound of two men’s voices arguing. One 
was upholding the merits of hasty pudding and 
the other stood out stoutly for meat pie, “es¬ 
pecially”—quoth this one—“when flavored with 
young onions!” 

“Gramercy!” muttered Robin to himself, 
“that is a tantalizing speech to a hungry man! 
But, odds boddikins! did ever two men talk more 
alike than those two fellows yonder!” 

In truth Robin could well marvel at the speech, 
for the voices were curiously alike. 

Presently the willows parted on the other bank, 
and Robin could hardly forbear laughing out¬ 
right. His mystery was explained. It was not 
two men who had done all this singing and talk¬ 
ing, but one—and that one a stout curtal friar 
who wore a long cloak over his portly frame, 
tied with a cord in the middle. On his head was 
a knight’s helmet, and in his hand was a no more 
warlike weapon than a huge pasty pie, with 



ROBIN AND FRIAR TUCK 


81 


which he sat down by the water’s edge. His 
twofold argument was finished. The meat pie 
had triumphed; and no wonder! for it was the 
present witness, soon to give its own testimony. 

But first the friar took off his helmet to cool 
his head, and a droll picture he made. His head 
was as round as an apple, and eke as smooth in 
spots. A fringe of close curling black hair grew 
round the base of his skull, but his crown was 
bare and shiny as an egg. His cheeks also 
were smooth and red and shiny; and his little 
gray eyes danced about with the funniest air im¬ 
aginable. You would not have blamed Robin 
Hood for wanting to laugh, had you heard this 
serious two-faced talk and then seen this jovial 
one-faced man. Good humor and fat living stood 
out all over him; yet for all that he looked stout 
enough and able to take care of himself with any 
man. His short neck was thick like that of a 
Berkshire bull: his shoulders were set far back, 
and his arms sprouted therefrom like two oak 
limbs. As he sat him down, the cloak fell apart 
disclosing a sword and buckler as stout as Robin’s 
own. 

Nathless, Robin was not dismayed at sight of 
the weapons. Instead, his heart fell within him 
when he saw the meat pie which was now in fair 
way to be devoured before his very eyes; for the 


82 


ROBIN HOOD 


friar lost no time in thrusting one hand deep into 
the pie, while he crossed himself with the other. 

Thereupon Robin seized his bow and fitted a 
shaft. 

“Hey, friar!” he sang out, “carry me over 
the water, or else I cannot answer for your 
safety.” 

The other started at the unexpected greeting, 
and laid his hand upon his sword. Then he 
looked up and beheld Robin’s arrow pointing full 
upon him. 

“Put down your bow, fellow,” he shouted 
back, “and I will bring you over the brook. 
’Tis our duty in life to help each other, and your 
keen shaft shows me that you are a man worthy 
of some attention.” 

So the friar knight got him up gravely, though 
his eyes twinkled with a cunning light, and laid 
aside his beloved pie and his cloak and his sword 
and his buckler, and waded across the stream 
with waddling dignity. Then he took Robin 
Hood upon his back and spoke neither good 
word nor bad till he came to the other side. 

Lightly leaped Robin off his back, and said, 
“I am much beholden to you, good father.” 

“Beholden, say you!” rejoined the other 
drawing his sword; “then by my faith you shall 
e’en repay your score. Now mine own affairs, 
which are of a spiritual kind and much more im- 


ROBIN AND FRIAR TUCK 83 


portant than yours which are carnal, lie on the 
other side of this stream. I see that you are a 
likely man and one, moreover, who would not 
refuse to serve the church. I must therefore 
pray of you that whatsoever I have done unto 
you, you will do also unto me. In short, my 
son, you must e’en carry me back again.” 

Courteously enough was this said; but so sud¬ 
denly had the friar drawn his sword that Robin 
had no time to unsling his bow from his back, 
whither he had placed it to avoid getting it wet, 
or to unfasten his scabbard. So he was fain to 
temporize. 

“Nay, good father, but I shall get my feet 
wet,” he commenced. 

“Are your feet any better than mine?” re¬ 
torted the other. “I fear me now that I have 
already wetted myself so badly as to lay in a 
store of rheumatic pains by way of penance.” 

“I am not so strong as you,” continued Robin; 
“that helmet and sword and buckler would be 
my undoing on the uncertain footing amidstream, 
to say nothing of your holy flesh and bones.” 

“Then I will lighten up, somewhat,” replied 
the other calmly. “Promise to carry me across 
and I will lay aside my war gear.” 

“Agreed,” said Robin; and the friar thereupon 
stripped himself; and Robin bent his stout back 
and took him up even as he had promised. 


84 


ROBIN HOOD 


Now the stones at the bottom of the stream 
were round and slippery, and the current swept 
along strongly, waist-deep, in the middle. More¬ 
over Robin had a heavier load than the other 
had borne, nor did he know the ford. So he 
went stumbling along now stepping into a deep 
hole, now stumbling over a boulder in a manner 
that threatened to unseat his rider or plunge 
them both clear under current. But the fat friar 
hung on and dug his heels into his steed’s ribs 
in as gallant manner as if he were riding in a 
tournament; while as for poor Robin the sweat 
ran down him in torrents and he gasped like the 
winded horse he was. But at last he managed 
to stagger out on the bank and deposit his un¬ 
wieldy load. 

No sooner had he set the friar down than he 
seized his own sword. 

“Now, holy friar,” quoth he, panting and wip¬ 
ing the sweat from his brow, “what say the 
Scriptures that you quote so glibly?—Be not 
weary of well doing. You must carry me back 
again or I swear that I will make a cheese-cloth 
out of your jacket!” 

The friar’s gray eyes once more twinkled with 
a cunning gleam that boded no good to Robin; 
but his voice was as calm and courteous as ever. 

“Your wits are keen, my son,” he said; “and 
I see that the waters of the stream have not 


ROBIN AND FRIAR TUCK 85 


quenched your spirit. Once more will I bend 
my back to the oppressor and carry the weight 
of the haughty.” 

So Robin mounted again in high glee, and 
carried his sword in his hand, and went prepared 
to tarry upon the other side. But while he was 
bethinking himself what great words to use, when 
he should arrive thither, he felt himself slipping 
from the friar’s broad back. He clutched fran¬ 
tically to save himself but had too round a sur¬ 
face to grasp, besides being hampered by his 
weapon. So down went he with a loud splash 
into the middle of the stream, where the crafty 
friar had conveyed him. 

“There!” quoth the holy man; “choose you, 
choose you, my fine fellow, whether you will 
sink or swim!” And he gained his own bank 
without more ado, while Robin thrashed and 
spluttered about until he made shift to grasp a 
willow wand and thus haul himself ashore on the 
other side. 

Then Robin’s rage waxed furious, despite his 
wetting, and he took his bow and his arrows and 
let fly one shaft after another at the worthy friar. 
But they rattled harmlessly off his steel buckler, 
while he laughed and minded them no more 
than if they had been hail-stones. 

“Shoot on, shoot on, good fellow,” he sang 


86 


ROBIN HOOD 


out; “ shoot as you have begun; if you shoot here 
a summer’s day, your mark I will not shun!” 

So Robin shot, and passing well, till all his ar¬ 
rows were gone, when from very rage he began 
to revile him. 

“You bloody villain!” shouted he, “you psalm¬ 
singing hypocrite! You reviler of good hasty 
pudding! Come but within reach of my sword 
arm, and, friar or no friar, I’ll shave your ton- 
sure closer than ever bald-pated monk was shaven 
before!” 

“Soft you and fair!” said the friar uncon¬ 
cernedly; “hard words are cheap, and you may 
need your wind presently. An you would like a 
bout with swords, meet me halfway i’ the stream.” 

And with this speech the friar waded into the 
brook, sword in hand, where he was met half¬ 
way by the impetuous outlaw. 

Thereupon began a fierce and mighty battle. 
Up and down, in and out, back and forth they 
fought. The swords flashed in the rays of the 
declining sun and then met with a clash that 
would have shivered less sturdy weapons or dis¬ 
armed less sturdy wielders. Many a smart blow 
was landed, but each perceived that the other 
wore an undercoat of linked mail which might 
not be pierced. Nathless, their ribs ached at the 
force of the blows. Once and again they paused 
by mutual consent and caught breath and looked 


ROBIN AND FRIAR TUCK 87 


hard each at the other; for never had either met 
so stout a fellow. 

Finally in a furious onset of lunge and parry 
Robin’s foot stepped on a rolling stone, and he 
went down upon his knees. But his antagonist 
would not take this advantage: he paused until 
Robin should get upon his feet. 

“Now by our Lady!” cried the outlaw, using 
his favorite oath, “you are the fairest swordsman 
that I have met in many a long day. I would 
beg a boon of you.” 

“What is it?” said the other. 

“Give me leave to set my horn to my mouth 
and blow three blasts thereon.” 

“That will I do,” said the curtal friar, “blow 
till your breath fails, an it please you.” 

Then—says the old ballad—Robin Hood set 
his horn to his mouth and blew three mighty 
blasts; and half a hundred yeomen, with bows 
bent, came raking over the lee. 

“Whose men are these,” said the friar, “that 
come so hastily?” 

“These men are mine,” said Robin Hood, feel¬ 
ing that his time to laugh was come at last. 

Then said the friar in his turn, “A boon, a 
boon, the like I gave to you. Give me leave to 
set my fist to my mouth and whistle three blasts 
thereon.” 


88 


ROBIN HOOD 


“That will I do,” said Robin, “or else I were 
lacking in courtesy.” 

The friar set his fist to his mouth and put the 
horn to shame by the piercing whistles he blew; 
whereupon half a hundred great dogs came run¬ 
ning and jumping so swiftly that they had 
reached their bank as soon as Robin Hood’s 
men had reached his side. 

Then followed a rare foolish conflict. Stutely, 
Much, Little John and the other outlaws, began 
sending their arrows whizzing toward the oppo¬ 
site bank; but the dogs, which were taught of the 
friar, dodged the missiles cleverly and ran and 
fetched them back again in their mouths, just 
as the dogs of to-day catch sticks. 

“I have never seen the like of this in my 
days!” cried Little John, amazed. “ ’Tis rank 
sorcery and witchcraft.” 

“Take off your dogs, Friar Tuck!” shouted 
Will Scarlet, who had but then run up, and who 
now stood laughing heartily at the scene. 

“Friar Tuck!” exclaimed Robin, astounded. 
“Are you Friar Tuck? Then am I your friend, 
for you are he I came to seek.” 

“I am but a poor anchorite, a curtal friar,” 
said the other, whistling to his pack, “by name 
Friar Tuck of Fountain’s Dale. For seven years 
have I tended the Abbey here, preached o’ Sun¬ 
days, and married and christened and buried 


ROBIN AND FRIAR TUCK 89 


folk—aye and fought too, if need were; and if it 
smacks not too much of boasting, I have not yet 
met the knight or trooper or yeoman that I 
would yield before. But yours is a stout blade. 
I would fain know you.” 

“ ’Tis Robin Hood, the outlaw, who has been 
assisting you at this christening,” said Will 
Scarlet glancing roguishly at the two opponents’ 
dripping garments. And at this sally the whole 
band burst into a shout of laughter, in which 
Robin and Friar Tuck joined. 

“Robin Hood!” cried the good friar presently, 
holding his sides; “are you indeed that famous 
yeoman? Then I like you well; and had I 
known you earlier, I would have both carried 
you across and shared my pasty pie with you.” 

“To speak soothly,” replied Robin gaily, 
“ ’twas that same pie that led me to be rude. 
Now, therefore, bring it and your dogs and 
repair with us to the greenwood. We have 
need of you,—with this message came I to-day 
to seek you. We will build you a hermitage in 
Sherwood Forest, and you shall keep us from 
evil ways. Will you not join our band?” 

“Marry, that will I!” cried Friar Tuck jovi¬ 
ally. “Once more will I cross this much be- 
forded stream, and go with you to the good 
greenwood!” 


CHAPTER VIII 


HOW ALLAN-A-D ALE’S WOOING 
WAS PROSPERED 

“What is thy name?” then said Robin Hood, 

“Come tell me, without any fail,” 

“By the faith o’ my body,” then said the young man, 
“My name it is Allan-a-Dale.” 

F RIAR TUCK and Much the miller’s son 
soon became right good friends over the 
steaming stew they jointly prepared for 
the merry men that evening. Tuck was mightily 
pleased when he found a man in the forest who 
could make pasties and who had cooked for no 
less person than the High Sheriff himself. While 
Much marveled at the friar’s knowledge of herbs 
and simples and woodland things which savored 
a stew greatly. So they gabbled together like 
two old gossips and, between them, made such a 
tasty mess that Robin Hood and his stout fol¬ 
lowers were like never to leave off eating. And 
the friar said grace too, with great unction, over 
the food; and Robin said Amen! and that hence¬ 
forth they were always to have mass of Sundays. 

So Robin walked forth into the wood that 
evening with his stomach full and his heart, 
therefore, in great contentment and love for 

( 90 ) 


ALLAN - A-D ALE ’ S WOOING 91 


other men. He did not stop the first passer-by, 
as his manner often was, and desire a fight. 
Instead, he stepped behind a tree, when he heard 
a man's voice in song, and waited to behold the 
singer. Perhaps he remembered, also, the merry 
chanting of Will Scarlet, and how he had tried to 
give it pause a few days before. 

Like Will this fellow was clad in scarlet, 
though he did not look quite as fine a gentleman. 
Nathless, he was a sturdy yoeman of honest face 
and a voice far sweeter than Will’s. He seemed 
to be a strolling minstrel, for he bore a harp in 
his hand, which he thrummed, while his lusty 
tenor voice rang out with— 


“Hey down, and a down, and a down, 

I’ve a lassie back i’ the town; 

Come day, come night. 

Come dark or light. 

She will wed me, back i’ the town!” 

Robin let the singer pass, caroling on his way. 
“ ’Tis not in me to disturb a light-hearted 
lover, this night,” he muttered, a memory of 
Marian coming back to him. “Pray heaven she 
may be true to him and the wedding be a gay 

one ‘back i’ the town!” 

So Robin went back to his camp, where he 

told of the minstrel. 

“If any of ye set eyes on him after this,” 


92 


ROBIN HOOD 


quoth he in ending, “bring him to me, for I 
would have speech with him.” 

The very next day his wish was gratified. 
Little John and Much the miller’s son were out 
together on a foraging expedition when they 
espied the same young man; at least, they 
thought it must be he, for he was clad in scarlet 
and carried a harp in his hand. But now he 
came drooping along the way; his scarlet was 
all in tatters; and at every step he fetched a 
sigh, “Alack and a well-a-day!” 

Then stepped forth Little John and Much the 
miller’s son. 

“Ho! do not wet the earth with your weep¬ 
ing,” said Little John, “else we shall all have 
lumbago.” 

No sooner did the young man catch sight of 
them than he bent his bow, and held an arrow 
back to his ear. 

“Stand off! stand off!” he said, “what is your 
will with me?” 

“Put by your weapon,” said Much, “we will 
not harm you. But you must come before our 
master straight, under yon greenwood tree.” 

So the minstrel put by his bow and suffered 
himself to be led before Robin Hood. 

“How now!” quoth Robin, when he beheld 
his sorry countenance, “are you not he whom I 


ALLAN-A-DALE’S WOOING 93 


heard no longer ago than yesternight caroling so 
blithely about ‘a lassie back i’ the town’?” 

“The same in body, good sir,” replied the other 
sadly; “but my spirit is greviously changed. 

“Tell me your tale,” said Robin courteously. 
“Belike I can help you.” 

“That can no man on earth, I fear,” said the 
stranger; “nathless, I’ll tell you the tale. Yes¬ 
terday I stood pledged to a maid, and thought 
soon to wed her. But she has been taken from 
me and is to become an old knight’s bride this 
very day; and as for me, I care not what ending 
comes to my days, or how soon, without her.” 

“Marry, come up!” said Robin; “how got 
the old knight so sudden vantage?” 

“Look you, worship, ’tis this way. The 
Normans overrun us, and are in such great favor 
that none may say them nay. This old returned 
Crusader coveted the land whereon my lady 
dwells. The estate is not large, but all in her 
own right; whereupon her brother says she 
shall wed a title, and he and the old knight have 
fixed it up for to-day.” 

“Nay, but surely-” began Robin. 

“Hear me out, worship,” said the other. 
“Belike you think me a sorry dog not to make 
fight of this. But the old knight, look you, is not 
come-at-able. I threw one of his varlets into a 
thorn hedge, and another into a water-butt, and 



94 


ROBIN HOOD 


a third landed head-first into a ditch. But I 
couldn’t do any fighting at all.” 

“ ’Tis a pity!” quoth Little John gravely. 
He had been sitting cross-legged listening to 
this tale of woe. “What think you, Friar 
Tuck, doth not a bit of fighting ease a man’s 
mind?” 

“Blood-letting is ofttimes recommended of 
the leeches,” replied Tuck. 

“Does the maid love you?” asked Robin 
Hood. 

“By our troth, she loved me right well,” said 
the minstrel. “I have a little ring of hers by 
me which I have kept for seven long years.” 

“What is your name?” then said Robin Hood. 

“By the faith of my body,” replied the young 
man, “ my name is Allan-a-Dale.” 

“What will you give me Allan-a-Dale,” said 
Robin Hood, “in ready gold or fee, to help you 
to your true love again, and deliver her back unto 
you?” 

“I have no money, save only five shillings,” 
quoth Allan; “but—are you not Robin Hood?” 

Robin nodded. 

“Then you, if any one, can aid me!” said 
Allan-a-Dale eagerly. “And if you give me 
back my love, I swear upon a book that I 
will be your true servant forever after.” 


ALLAN - A-D ALE ’ S WOOING 95 


“Where is this wedding to take place, and 
when?” asked Robin. 

“At Plympton Church, scarce five miles from 
here; and at three o’ the afternoon.” 

“Then to Plympton we will go!” cried Robin 
suddenly springing into action; and he gave out 
orders like a general: “Will Stutely, do you 
have four-and-twenty good men over against 
Plympton Church ’gainst three o’ the afternoon. 
Much, good fellow, do you cook up some por¬ 
ridge for this youth, for he must have a good 
round stomach—aye, and a better gear! Will 
Scarlet, you will see to decking him out bravely 
for the nonce. And Friar Tuck, hold yourself in 
readiness good book in hand, at the church. 
Mayhap you had best go ahead of us all.” 

The fat Bishop of Hereford was full of pomp 
and importance that day at Plympton Church. 
He was to celebrate the marriage of an old 
knight— a returned Crusader—and a landed 
young woman; and all the gentry thereabout 
were to grace the occasion with their presence. 
The church itself was gaily festooned with flow¬ 
ers for the ceremony, while out in the church¬ 
yard at one side brown ale flowed freely for all 
the servitors. 

Already were the guests beginning to as¬ 
semble, when the Bishop, back in the vestry, saw 



96 


ROBIN HOOD 


a minstrel clad in green walk up boldly to the 
door and peer within. It was Robin Hood, who 
had borrowed Allan’s be-ribboned harp for the 
time. 

“Now who are you, fellow?” quoth the 
Bishop, “and what do you here at the church- 
door with your harp and saucy air?” 

“May it please your Reverence,” returned 
Robin bowing very humbly, “I am but a stroll¬ 
ing harper, yet likened the best in the whole 
North Countree. And I had hope that my 
thrumming might add zest to the wedding today.” 

“What tune can you harp?” demanded the 
Bishop. 

“I can harp a tune so merry that a forlorn 
lover will forget he is jilted,” said Robin. “I 
can harp another tune that will make a bride 
forsake her lord at the altar. I can harp another 
tune that will bring loving souls together though 
they were up hill and down dale five good miles 
away from each other.” 

“Then welcome good minstrel,” said the 
Bishop, “music pleases me right well, and if you 
can play up to your prattle, 'twill indeed grace 
our ceremony. Let us sample your wares.” 

“Nay, I must not put finger to string until 
the bride and groom have come. Such a thing 
would ill fortune both us and them.” 


ALL AX-A-D ALE’S WOOING 97 


“Have it as you will,” said the Bishop, “but 
here comes the party now.” 

Then up the lane to the church came the old 
knight, preceded by ten archers liveried in scar¬ 
let and gold. A brave sight the archers made, 
but their master walked slowly leaning upon a 
cane and shaking as though in a palsy. 

And after them came a sweet lass leaning upon 
her brother’s arm. Her hair did shine like 
glistering gold, and her eyes were like blue 
violets that peep out shyly at the sun. The 
color came and went in her cheeks like the tint¬ 
ing of a sea-shell, and her face was flushed as 
though she had been weeping. But now she 
walked with a proud air, as though she defied 
the world to crush her spirit. She had but two 
maids with her, finikin lasses, with black eyes 
and broad bosoms, who set off their lady’s more 
delicate beauty well. One held up the bride’s 
gown from the ground; the other carried flowers 
in plenty. 

“Now by all the wedding bells that ever were 
rung!” quoth Robin boldly, “this is the worst 
matched pair that ever mine eyes beheld!” 

“Silence, miscreant!” said a man who stood 
near. 

The Bishop had hurriedly donned his gown 
and now stood ready to meet the couple at the 
chancel. 


98 


ROBIN HOOD 


But Robin paid no heed to him. He let the 
knight and his ten archers pass by, then he 
strode up to the bride, and placed himself on the 
other side from her brother. 

“Courage, lady!” he whispered, “there is 
another minstrel near, who mayhap may play 
more to your liking.” 

The lady glanced at him with a frightened air, 
but read such honesty and kindness in his glance 
that she brightened and gave him a grateful look. 

“Stand aside, fool!” cried the brother wrath- 
fully. 

“Nay, but I am to bring good fortune to the 
bride by accompanying her through the church- 
doors,” said Robin laughing. 

Thereupon he was allowed to walk by her side 
unmolested, up to the chancel with the party. 

“Now strike up your music, fellow!” ordered 
the Bishop. 

“Right gladly will I,” quoth Robin, “an you 
will let me choose my instrument. For some¬ 
times I like the harp, and other times I think 
the horn makes the merriest music in all the 
world.” 

And he drew forth his bugle from underneath 
his green cloak and blew three winding notes that 
made the church-rafters ring again. 

“Seize him!” yelled the Bishop; “there’s 


ALLAN-A-DALE’S WOOING 99 


mischief afoot! These are the tricks of Robin 
Hood!” 

The ten liveried archers rushed forward from 
the rear of the church, where they had been 
stationed. But their rush was blocked by the 
onlookers who now rose from their pews in 
alarm and crowded the aisles. Meanwhile 
Robin had leaped lightly over the chancel rail 
and stationed himself in a nook by the altar. 

“Stand where you are!” he shouted, drawing 
his bow, “the first man to pass the rail dies the 
death. And all ye who have come to witness a 
wedding stay in your seats. We shall e’en have 
one, since we are come into a church. But the 
bride shall choose her own swain!” 

Then up rose another great commotion at the 
door, and four-and-twenty good bowmen came 
marching in with Will Stutely at their head. 
And they seized the ten liveried archers and 
the bride’s scowling brother and the other men 
on guard and bound them prisoners. 

Then in came Allan-a-Dale, decked out gayly, 
with Will Scarlet for best man. And they 
walked gravely down the aisle and stood over 
against the chancel. 

“Before a maiden weds she chooses—an the 
laws of good King Harry be just ones,” said 
Robin. “Now, maiden, before this wedding 
continues, whom will you have to husband?” 


100 


ROBIN HOOD 


The maiden answered not in words, but 
smiled with a glad light in her eyes, and walked 
over to Allan and clasped her arms about his 
neck. 

“That is her true love,” said Robin. “Young 
Allan instead of the gouty knight. And the 
true lovers shall be married at this time before 
we depart away. Now my lord Bishop, proceed 
with the ceremony!” 

“Nay, that shall not be,” protested the Bishop; 
“the bans must be cried three times in the church. 
Such is the law of our land.” 

“Come here, Little John,” called Robin im¬ 
patiently; and he plucked off the Bishop’s frock 
from his back and put it on the yeoman. 

Now the Bishop was short and fat, and Little 
John was long and lean. And he clapped the 
Bishop’s cap on the tall fellow's head. The gown 
hung loosely over Little John’s shoulders and 
came only to his waist. He was a fine comical 
sight, and the people began to laugh consumedly 
at him. Howbeit the Bishop confronted him 
with speechless rage. 

“By the faith o’ my body,” said Robin, “this 
cloth makes you a fine man. You’re the finest 
Bishop that ever I saw in my life. Now cry the 
bans.” 

So Little John clambered awkwardly into the 
quire, his short gown fluttering gayly; and he 



THE WEDDING OF ALLAN-A-DALE. 












ALLAN-A-DALE’S WOOING 101 


called the bans for the marriage of the maid and 
Allan-a-Dale once, twice, and thrice. 

“That’s not enough,” said Robin; “your gown 
is so short that you must talk longer.” 

Then Little John asked them in the church 
for, five, six, and seven times. 

“Good enough!” said Robin. “Now belike I 
see a worthy friar in the back of this church who 
can say a better service than ever my lord Bishop 
of Hereford. My lord Bishop shall be witness 
and seal the papers, but do you, good friar, bless 
this pair with book and candle.” 

So Friar Tuck, who all along has been back 
in one corner of the church, came forward; and 
Allan and his maid kneeled before him, while 
the old knight, held an unwilling witness, 
gnashed his teeth in impotent rage; and the friar 
began with the ceremony. 

When he asked, “Who giveth this woman?” 
Robin stepped up and answered in a clear voice: 

“I do! I, Robin Hood of Barnesdale and 
Sherwood! And he who takes her from Allan- 
a-Dale shall buy her full dearly.” 

So the twain were declared man and wife and 
duly blessed; and the bride was kissed by each 
sturdy yeoman beginning with Robin Hood. 

Now I cannot end this jolly tale better than 
in the words of the ballad which came out of 


102 


ROBIN HOOD 


the happening and which has been sung in 
villages and countryside ever since: 

And thus having end of this merry wedding, 
The bride looked as fresh as a queen; 

And so they turned to the merry greenwood, 
Amongst the leaves so green. 


CHAPTER IX 


HOW THE WIDOW’S THREE SONS 

WERE RESCUED 

Now Robin Hood is to Nottingham gone, 

With a link a down and a down, 

And there he met with the proud Sheriff, 

Was walking along the town. 

T HE wedding-party was a merry one that 
left Plympton Church, I ween; but not so 
merry were the ones left behind. My 
lord Bishop of Hereford was stuck up in the or¬ 
gan-loft and left, gownless and fuming. The ten 
liveried archers were variously disposed about the 
church to keep him company; two of them be¬ 
ing locked in a tiny crypt, three in the belfry, 
“to ring us a wedding peal,” as Robin said; and 
the others under quire seats or in the vestry. 
The bride’s brother at her entreaty was released, 
but bidden not to return to the church that day 
or interfere with his sister again on pain of death. 
While the rusty old knight was forced to climb a 
high tree, where he sat insecurely perched among 
the branches, feebly cursing the party as it de¬ 
parted. 

It was then approaching sundown, but none of 
the retainers or villagers dared rescue the im- 

( 103 ) 


104 


ROBIN HOOD 


prisoned ones that night, for fear of Robin 
Hood’s men. So it was not until sunup the next 
day, that they were released. The Bishop and 
the old knight, stiff as they were, did not delay 
longer than for breakfast, but—so great was their 
rage and shame—made straight to Nottingham 
and levied the Sheriff’s forces. The Sheriff him¬ 
self was not anxious to try conclusions again with 
Robin in the open. Perhaps he had some slight 
scnrples regarding his oath. But the others 
swore that they would go straight to the King, if 
he did not help them, so he was fain to consent. 

A force of an hundred picked men from the 

Royal Foresters and swordsmen of the shire was 

gathered together and marched straightway into 

the greenwood. There, as fortune would have it, 

they surprised some score of outlaws hunting, 

and instantly gave chase. But they could not 

surround the outlaws, who kept well in the lead, 

ever and anon dropping behind a log or boulder 

to speed back a shaft which meant mischief to 

the pursuers. One shaft indeed carried off the 

Sheriff’s hat and caused that worthy man to fall 
- * 

forward upon his horse’s neck from sheer terror; 
while five other arrows landed in the fleshy parts 
of Foresters’ arms. 

But the attacking party was not wholly unsuc¬ 
cessful. One outlaw in his flight stumbled and 
fell; when two others instantly stopped and 




THE WIDOW’S THREE SONS 105 


# 

helped to put him on his feet again. They were 
the widow’s three sons, Stout Will, and Lester, 
and John. The pause was an unlucky one for 
them, as a party of Sheriff’s men got above them 
and cut them off from their fellows. Swordsmen 
came up in the rear, and they were soon hemmed 
in on every side. But they gave good account 
of themselves, and before they had been over¬ 
borne by force of numbers they had killed two 
and disabled three more. 

The infuriated attackers were almost on the 
point of hewing the stout outlaws to pieces, when 
the Sheriff cried: 

“Hold! Bind the villains! We will follow 
the law in this and take them to the town jail. 
But I promise ye the biggest public hanging that 
has been seen in this shire for many changes of 
the moon!” 

So they bound the widow’s three sons and 
carried them back speedily to Nottingham. 

Now Robin Hood had not chanced to be near 
the scene of the fight, or with his men; so for a 
time he heard nothing of the happening. But 
that evening while returning to camp he was 
met by the widow herself, who came weeping 
along the way. 

“What news, what news, good woman?” said 
Robin hastily but courteously; for he liked her 
well. 


106 


ROBIN HOOD 


“God save ye, Master Robin!” said the dame 
wildly. “God keep ye from the fate that has 
met my three sons! The Sheriff has laid hands 
on them and they are condemned to die.” 

“Now, by our Lady! that cuts me to the heart! 
Stout Will and Lester, and merry John! The 
earliest friends I had in the band, and still among 
the bravest! It must not be! When is this 
hanging set?” 

“Middle the tinker tells me that it is for to¬ 
morrow noon,” replied the dame. 

“By the truth o’ my body,” quoth Robin, 
“you could not tell me in better time. The 
memory of the old days when you freely bade 
me sup and dine would spur me on, even if three 
of the bravest lads in all the shire were not im¬ 
periled. Trust to me, good woman!” 

The old widow threw herself on the ground 
and embraced his knees. 

“ ’Tis dire danger I am asking ye to face,” 
she said weeping; “and yet I knew your brave, 
true heart would answer me. Heaven help ye, 
good Master Robin, to answer a poor widow’s 
prayers!” 

Then Robin Hood sped straightway to the 
forest-camp, where he heard the details of the 
skirmish—how that his men had been out¬ 
numbered five to one, but got off safely, as they 


THE WIDOW’S THREE SONS 107 


thought, until a count of their members had 
shown the loss of the widow’s three sons. 

“We must rescue them, my men!” quoth 
Robin, “even from out the shadow of the rope 
itself!” 

Whereupon the band set to work to devise 
ways and means. 

Robin walked apart a little way with his head 
leaned thoughtfully upon his breast—for he was 
sore troubled—when whom should he meet but 
an old begging palmer, one of a devout order 
which made pilgrimages and wandered from 
place to place supported by charity. 

This old fellow walked boldly up to Robin and 
asked alms of him; since Robin had been wont 
to aid members of his order. 

“What news, what news, thou foolish old 
man?” said Robin, “what news, I do thee pray?” 

“Three squires in Nottingham town,” quoth 
the palmer, “are condemned to die. Belike that 
is greater news than the shire has had in some 
Sundays.” 

Then Robin’s long-sought idea came to him 
like a flash. 

“Come, change thine apparel with me, old 
man,” he said, “and I’ll give thee forty shillings 
in good silver to spend in beer or wine.” 

“O, thine apparel is good,” the palmer pro¬ 
tested, “and mine is ragged and torn. The holy 


108 


ROBIN HOOD 


church teaches that thou should’st ne’er laugh 
an old man to scorn.” 

“I am in simple earnest, I say. Come, change 
thine apparel with mine. Here are twenty pieces 
of good broad gold to feast thy brethren right 
royally.” 

So the palmer was persuaded; and Robin put 
on the old man’s hat, which stood full high in 
the crown; and his cloak, patched with black and 
blue and red, like Joseph’s coat of many colors 
in its old age; and his breeches, which had been 
sewed over w T ith so many patterns that the orig¬ 
inal was scarce discernible; and his tattered hose; 
and his shoes, cobbled above and below. And 
while as he made the change in dress he made so 
many whimsical comments also about a man’s 
pride and the dress that makes a man, that the 
palmer was like to choke with cackling laughter. 

I warrant you, the two were comical sights 
when they parted company that day. Nathless, 
Robin’s own mother would not have known him, 
had she been living. 

The next morning the whole town of Notting¬ 
ham was early astir, and as soon as the gates 
were open country-folk began to pour in; for a 
triple hanging was not held there every day in the 
week, and the bustle almost equaled a Fair day. 

Robin Hood in his palmer’s disguise was one 


THE WIDOW’S THREE SONS 109 


of the first ones to enter the gates, and he strolled 
up and down and around the town as though he 
had never been there before in all his life. Pres¬ 
ently he came to the market-place, and beheld 
thereon three gallows erected. 

“Who are these builded for, my son?” asked 
he of a rough soldier standing by. 

“For three of Robin Hood’s men,” answered 
the other. “And it were Robin himself, ’twould 
be thrice as high I warrant ye. But Robin is too 
smart to get within the Sheriff’s clutches again.” 

The palmer crossed himself. 

“They say that he is a bold fellow,” he 
whined. 

“Ha!” said the soldier, “he may be bold 
enough out behind stumps i’ the forest, but the 
open market-place is another matter.” 

“Who is to hang these three poor wretches?” 
asked the palmer. 

“That hath the Sheriff not decided. But here 
he comes now to answer his own questions.” 
And the soldier came to stiff attention as the 
Sheriff and his body-guard stalked pompously 
up to inspect the gallows. 

“O, Heaven save you, worshipful Sheriff!” 
said the palmer. “Heaven protect you! What 
will you give a silly old man to-day to be your 
hangman?” 


110 


ROBIN HOOD 


“Who are you, fellow?” asked the Sheriff 
sharply. 

“Naught save a poor old palmer. But I can 
shrive three souls and hang their bodies most 
devoutly.” 

“Very good,” replied the other. “The fee to¬ 
day is thirteen pence; and I will add thereunto 
some suits of clothing for that ragged back of 
yours.” 

“God bless ye!” said the palmer. And he 
went with the soldier to the jail to prepare his 
three men for execution. 

Just before the stroke of noon the doors of 
the prison opened and the procession of the con¬ 
demned came forth. Down through the long 
lines of packed people they walked to the market¬ 
place, the palmer in the lead, and the widow’s 
three sons marching firmly erect between 
soldiers. 

At the gallows foot they halted. The palmer 
whispered to them, as though offering last words 
of consolation; and the three men, with arms 
bound tightly behind their backs, ascended the 
scaffold, followed by their confessor. 

Then Robin stepped to the edge of the scaf¬ 
fold, while the people grew still as death; for 
they desired to hear the last words uttered to 
the victims. But Robin’s voice did not quaver 
forth weakly, as formerly, and his figure had stiff- 


THE WIDOW’S THREE SONS 111 


* 

ened bolt upright beneath the black robe that 
covered his rags. 

“Hark ye, proud Sheriff!” he cried. “I was 
ne’er a hangman in all my life, nor do I now in¬ 
tend to begin that trade. Accurst be he who 
first set the fashion of hanging! I have but 
three more words to say. Listen to them!” 

And forth from his robe he drew his horn and 
blew three loud blasts thereon. Then his keen 
hunting-knife flew forth and in a trice, Stout 
Will, Lester, and merry John were free men and 
had sprung forward and seized the halberds from 
the nearest soldiers guarding the gallows. 

“Seize them! ‘Tis Robin Hood!” screamed 
the Sheriff, “an hundred pounds if ye hold them, 
dead or alive!” 

“I make it two hundred!” roared the fat 
Bishop. 

But their voices were drowned in the uproar 
that ensued immediately after Robin blew his 
horn. He himself had drawn his sword and 
leaped down the stairs from the scaffold followed 
by his three men. The guard had closed around 
them in vain effort to disarm them, when “A 
rescue!” shouted Will Stutely’s clear voice on 
one side of them, and “A rescue!” bellowed Lit¬ 
tle John’s on the other; and down through the 
terror-stricken crowd rushed fourscore men in 
Lincoln green, their force seemingly twice that 


112 


ROBIN HOOD 


number in the confusion. With swords drawn 
they fell upon the guard from every side at once. 
There was a brief clash of hot weapons, then the 
guard scattered wildly, and Robin Hood’s men 
formed in a compact mass around their leader 
and forced their way slowly down the market¬ 
place. 

“Seize them! In the King’s name!” shrieked 
the Sheriff. “Close the gates!” 

In truth, the peril would have been even 
greater, had this last order been carried out. 
But Will Scarlet and Allan-a-Dale had foreseen 
that event, and had already overpowered the two 
warders. So the gates stood wide open, and 
toward them the band of outlaws headed. 

The solders rallied a force of twice their num¬ 
ber and tried resolutely to pierce their centre. 
But the retreating force turned thrice and sent 
such volleys of keen arrows from their good yew 
bows, that they kept a distance between the two 
forces. 

And thus the gate was reached, and the long 
road leading up the hill, and at last the protecting 
greenwood itself. The soldiers dared come no 
farther. And the widow’s three sons, I warrant 
you, supped more heartily that night than ever 
before in their whole lives. 


CHAPTER X 


HOW A BEGGAR FILLED THE 
PUBLIC EYE 

Good Robin accost him in his way, 

To see what he might be; 

If any beggar had money. 

He thought some part had he. 

O NE bright morning, soon after the stir¬ 
ring events told in the last chapter, 
Robin wandered forth alone down the 
road to Barnesdale, to see if aught had come of 
the Sheriff’s pursuit. But all was still and serene 
and peaceful. No one was in sight save a soli¬ 
tary beggar who came sturdily along his way in 
Robin’s direction. The beggar caught sight of 
Robin, at the same moment, as he emerged from 
the trees, but gave no sign of having seen him. 
He neither slackened nor quickened his pace, 
but jogged forward merrily, whistling as he 
came, and beating time by punching holes in the 
dusty road with the stout pike-staff in his hand. 

The curious look of the fellow arrested Robin’s 
attention, and he decided to stop and talk with 
him. The fellow was bare-legged and bare¬ 
armed, and wore a long shift of a shirt, fastened 
with a belt. About his neck hung a stout, bulg- 

( 113 ) 


114 


ROBIN HOOD 


mg bag, which was buckled by a good piece of 
leather thong. 

He had three hats upon his head 
Together sticked fast; 

He cared neither for the wind nor wet. 

In lands where’er he past. 

The fellow looked so fat and hearty, and the 
wallet on his shoulder seemed so well filled, that 
Robin thought within himself, 

“Ha! this is a lucky beggar for me! If any 
of them have money, this is the chap, and, marry, 
he should share it with us poorer bodies.” 

So he flourished his own stick and planted him¬ 
self in the traveler’s path. 

“Sirrah, fellow!” quoth he; “whither away so 
fast? Tarry, for I would have speech with ye!” 

The beggar made as though he heard him not, 
and kept straight on with his faring. 

“Tarry, I say, fellow!” said Robin again, “for 
there’s a way to make folks obey!” 

“Nay, ’tis not so,” answered the beggar, speak¬ 
ing for the first time; “I obey no man in all 
England, not even the King himself. So let me 
pass on my way, for ’tis growing late, and I have 
still far to go before I can care for my stomach’s 
good.” 

“Now, by my troth,” said Robin, once more 
getting in front of the other, “I see well by your 


THE BEGGAR 


115 


fat countenance, that you lack not for good food, 
while I go hungry. Therefore you must lend 
me of your means till we meet again, so that I 
may hie to the nearest tavern.” 

“I have no money to lend,” said the beggar 
crossly. “Methinks you are as young a man as 
I, and as well able to earn a supper. So go your 
way, and I’ll go mine. If you fast till you get 
aught out of me, you’ll go hungry for the next 
twelvemonth.” 

“Not while I have a stout stick to thwack 
your saucy bones!” cried Robin. “Stand and 
deliver, I say, or I’ll dust your shirt for you; and 
if that will not teach you manners, then we’ll see 
what a broad arrow can do with a beggar’s skin!” 

The beggar smiled, and answered boast with 
boast. “Come on with your staff, fellow! 
I care no more for it than for a pudding stick. 
And as for your pretty bow —that for it!” 

And with amazing quickness, he swung his 
pike-staff around and knocked Robin’s bow clean 
out of his hand, so that his fingers smarted with 
pain. Robin danced and tried to bring his own 
staff into action; but the beggar never gave him 
a chance. Biff! whack! came the pike-staff, 
smiting him soundly and beating down his guard. 

There was but two things to do; either stand 
there and take a sound drubbing, or beat a hasty 
retreat. Robin chose the latter—as you or I 


116 


ROBIN HOOD 


would probably have done—and scurried back 
into the wood, blowing his horn as he went. 

“Fie, for shame, man!” jeered the bold beg¬ 
gar after him. “What is your haste? We had 
but just begun. Stay and take your money, else 
you will never be able to pay your reckoning at 
the tavern!” 

But Robin answered him never a word. He 
fled up hill and down dale till he met three of his 
men who were running up in answer to his sum¬ 
mons. 

“What is wrong?” they asked. 

“ ’Tis a saucy beggar,” said Robin, catching 
his breath. “He is back there on the highroad 
with the hardest stick I’ve met in a good many 
days. He gave me no chance to reason with him, 
the dirty scamp!” 

The men—Much and two of the widow’s sons 
—could scarce conceal their mirth at the thought 
of Robin Hood running from a beggar. Nath- 
less, they kept grave faces, and asked their leader 
if he was hurt. 

“Nay,” he replied, “but I shall speedily feel 
better if you will fetch me that same beggar and 
let me have a fair chance at him.” 

So the three yeomen made haste and came out 
upon the highroad and followed after the beggar, 
who was going smoothly along his way again, 
as though he were at peace with all the world. 



THE BEGGAR 


117 


“The easiest way to settle this beggar,” said 
Much, “is to surprise him. Let us cut through 
yon neck of woods and come upon him before he 
is aware.” 

The others agreed to this, and the three were 
soon close upon their prey. 

“Now!” quoth Much; and the other two 
sprang quickly upon the beggar’s back and 
wrested his pike-staff from his hand. At the 
same moment Much drew his dagger and flashed 
it before the fellow’s breast. 

“Yield you, my man!” cried he; “for a friend 
of ours awaits you in the wood, to teach you 
how to fight properly.” 

“Give me a fair chance,” said the beggar 
valiantly, “and I’ll fight you all at once.” 

But they would not listen to him. Instead, 
they turned him about and began to march him 
toward the forest. Seeing that it was useless to 
struggle, the beggar began to parley. 

“Good my masters,” quoth he, “why use this 
violence? I will go with ye safe and quietly, if ye 
insist, but if ye will set me free I’ll make it worth 
your while. I’ve a hundred pounds in my bag 
here. Let me go my way, and ye shall have all 
that’s in the bag.” 

The three outlaws took council together at this. 

“What say you?” asked Much of the others. 


118 


ROBIN HOOD 


“Our master will be more glad to see this beg¬ 
gar’s wallet than his sorry face.” 

The other two agreed, and the little party 
came to a halt and loosed hold of the beggar. 

“Count out your gold speedily, friend,” said 
Much. 

There was a brisk wind blowing, and the beg¬ 
gar turned about to face it, directly they had 
unhanded him. 

“It shall be done, gossips,” said he. “One of 
you lend me your cloak and we will spread it 
upon the ground and put the wealth upon it.” 

The cloak was handed him, and he placed his 
wallet upon it as though it were very heavy in¬ 
deed. Then he crouched down and fumbled with 
the leather fastenings. The outlaws also bent 
over and watched the proceeding closely, lest he 
should hide some of the money on his person. 
Presently he got the bag unfastened and plunged 
his hands into it. Forth from it he drew—not 
shining gold—but handfuls of fine meal which he 
dashed into the eager faces of the men around 
him. The wind aided him in this, and soon there 
arose a blinding cloud which filled the eyes, 
noses, and mouths of the three outlaws till they 
could scarcely see or breathe. 

While they gasped and choked and sputtered 
and felt around wildly for that rogue of a beg¬ 
gar, he finished the job by picking up the cloak by 


THE BEGGAR 


119 


its corners and shaking it vigorously in the faces 
of his suffering victims. Then he seized a stick 
which lay conveniently near, and began to rain 
blows down upon their heads, shoulders, and 
sides, all the time dancing first on one leg, then 
on the other and crying, 

“Villains! rascals! here are the hundred 
pounds I promised. How do you like them? 
I’ faith, you’ll get all that’s in the bag.” 

Whack! whack! whack! whack! went the 
stick, emphasizing each word. Howls of pain 
might have gone up from the sufferers, but they 
had too much meal in their throats for that. 
Their one thought was to flee, and they stumbled 
off blindly down the road, the beggar following 
them a little way to give them a few parting love- 
taps. 

“Fare ye well, my masters,” he said finally 
turning the other way; “and when next I come 
along the Barnesdale road, I hope you will be 
able to tell gold from meal dust!” 

With this he departed, an easy victor, and 
again went whistling on his way, while the three 
outlaws rubbed the meal out of their eyes and 
began to catch their breath again. 

As soon as they could look around them 
clearly they beheld Robin Hood leaning against 
a tree trunk and surveying them smilingly. He 


120 


ROBIN HOOD 


had recovered his own spirits in full measure, on 
seeing their plight. 

“God save ye, gossips!” he said, “ye must, in 
sooth, have gone the wrong way and been to the 
mill, from the looks of your clothes.” 

Then when they looked shamefaced and 
answered never a word, he went on, in a soft 
voice, 

“Did ye see aught of that bold beggar, I sent 
you for, lately?” 

“In sooth, master,” responded Much the 
miller’s son, “we heard more of him than we saw 
him. He filled us so full of meal that I shall 
sweat meal for a week. I was born in a mill and 
had the smell of meal in my nostrils from my 
very birth, you might say, and yet never before 
did I see such a quantity of the stuff in so small 
space.” 

And he sneezed violently. 

“How was that?” asked Robin demurely. 

“Why we laid hold of the beggar, as you did 
order, when he offered to pay for his release out 
of the bag he carried upon his back.” 

“The same I coveted,” quoth Robin as if to 
himself. 

“So we agreed to this,” went on Much, “and 
spread a cloak down, and he opened his bag and 
shook it thereon. Instantly a great cloud of meal 
filled the air, whereby we could neither see nor 


THE BEGGAR 


121 


breathe; and in the midst of this cloud he van¬ 
ished like a wizard.” 

“But not before he left certain black and blue 
spots to be remembered by, I see,” commented 
Robin. 

“He was in league with the evil one,” said one 
of the widow’s sons, rubbing himself ruefully. 

Then Robin laughed outright, and sat him 
down upon the gnarled root of a tree, to finish 
his merriment. 

“Four bold outlaws, put to rout by a sorry 
beggar!” cried he. “I can laugh at ye my men, 
for I am in the same boat with ye. But ’twould 
never do to have this tale get abroad—even in the 
greenwood—how that we could not hold our own 
with the odds in our favor. So let us have this 
little laugh all to ourselves, and no one else need 
be the wiser!” 

The others saw the point of this, and felt better 
directly, despite their itching desire to get hold 
of the beggar again. And none of the four ever 
told of the adventure. 

But the beggar must have boasted of it at the 
next tavern; or a little bird perched among the 
branches of a neighboring oak must have sung 
of it. For it got abroad, as such tales will, and 
was put into a right droll ballad which, I warrant 
you, the four outlaws liked not to hear. 




CHAPTER XI 


HOW ROBIN HOOD FOUGHT GUY OF 

GISBORNE 

“I dwell by dale and down,” quoth he, 

“And Robin to take I’m sworn; 

And when I am called by my right name, 

I am Guy of good Gisborne.” 

S OME weeks passed after the rescue of the 
widow’s three sons; weeks spent by the 
Sheriff in the vain effort to entrap Robin 
Hood and his men. For Robin’s name and deeds 
had come to the King’s ears, in London town, 
and he sent word to the Sheriff to capture the 
outlaw, under penalty of losing his office So 
the Sheriff tried every manner of means to sur¬ 
prise Robin Hood in the forest, but always with¬ 
out success. And he increased the price put 
upon Robin’s head, in the hope that the best men 
of the kingdom could be induced to try their skill 
at a capture. 

Now there was a certain Guy of Gisborne, a 
hireling knight of the King’s army, who heard 
of Robin and of the price upon his head. Sir 
Guy was one of the best men at the bow and the 
sword in all the King’s service. But his heart 
was black and treacherous. He obtained the 


( 122 ) 


GUY OF GISBORNE 


123 


King’s leave forthwith to seek out the forester; 
and armed with the King’s scroll he came before 
the Sheriff at Nottingham. 

“I have come to capture Robin Hood,” quoth 
he, “and mean to have him, dead or alive.” 

“Right gladly would I aid you,” answered the 
Sheriff, “even if the King’s seal were not suf¬ 
ficient warrant. How many men need you?” 

“None,” replied Sir Guy, “ for I am convinced 
that forces of men can never come at the bold 
robber. I must needs go alone. But do you 
hold your men in readiness at Barnesdale, and 
when you hear a blast from this silver bugle, 
come quickly, for I shall have the sly Robin 
within my clutches.” 

“Very good,” said the Sheriff. “Marry, it 
shall be done.” And he sat about giving orders, 
while Guy of Gisborne sallied forth disguised. 

Now as luck would have it, Will Scarlet and 
Little John and a half-score of others had gone 
to Barnesdale that very day with a woodsledge, 
to buy suits of Lincoln green for certain of the 
yeomen who had come out at the knees and 
elbows. But not deeming it best for all of them 
to run their necks into a noose, they parted 
just outside the town, and while John and the 
others tarried and watched on the outside, the 
other outlaw dashed quickly into the inn hard by 
the gates. 


124 


ROBIN HOOD 


Presently whom should he see but this same 
Will flying madly forth from the gates again, 
closely pursued by the Sheriff and threescore 
men. Over the moat Will sprang, through the 
bushes and briars, across the swamp, over stocks 
and stones, up the woodland roads in long leaps 
like a scared jack rabbit. And after him puffed 
the Sheriff and his men their force scattering out 
in the flight as one man would tumble head¬ 
first into a ditch, another mire up in the swamp, 
another trip over a rolling stone, and still others 
sit down on the roadside and gasp for wind like 
fish out of water. 

The other outlaws seeing themselves outnum¬ 
bered, took to the woods and shelter. Little 
John, who was always a daredevil, lingered be¬ 
hind the rest. He could not forbear laughing 
heartily at the scene, though he knew that ’twould 
be anything but a laughing matter if Will should 
stumble. And in truth one man was like to 
come upon him. It was William-a-Trent, the 
best runner among the Sheriff’s men. He had 
come within twenty feet of Scarlet and was leap¬ 
ing along with great bounds like a greyhound, 
when John rose up quickly, drew his bow and 
let fly one of his fatal shafts. It would have been 
better for William-a-Trent to have been abed 
with sorrow—says the ballad—than to be that 



THE OUTLAW DASHED QUICKLY INTO THE INN. 


















GUY OF GISBORNE 


125 


day in the greenwood slade to meet with Little 
John’s arrow. He had run his last race. 

The others halted a moment in consternation, 
when the shaft came hurtling down from the hill; 
but looking up they beheld none save Little 
John, and with a cry of fierce joy they turned 
upon him. Meanwhile Will Scarlet had reached 
the brow of the hill and sped down the other side. 

“I’ll just send one more little message of re¬ 
gret to the Sheriff,” said Little John, “before I 
join Will.” 

But this foolhardy deed was his undoing, for 
just as the arrow left the string, the good yew 
bow that had never before failed him snapped in 
twain. 

“Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood, 
that ere thou grew on a tree!” cursed Little 
John, and planted his feet resolutely in the earth 
resolved to sell the path dearly; for the soldiers 
were now so close upon him that he dared not 
turn. 

And a right good account of himself he gave 
that day, dealing with each man as he came up 
according to his merit. And so winded were the 
pursuers when they reached the top of the hill 
that he laid out the first ten of them right and 
left with huge blows of his brawny fist. 

But if six men can do more than three, a score 
can overcome one. A body of archers stood off 


126 


ROBIN HOOD 


at a prudent distance and covered Little John 
with their arrows. 

“Now yield you!” panted the Sheriff. “Yield 
you, Little John or Reynold Greenleaf, or what¬ 
ever else name you carry this day! Yield you, 
or some few of these shafts will reach your 
heart!” 

“Marry, my heart has been touched by your 
words ere now,” said Little John; “and I yield 
me.” 

So the Sheriff’s men laid hold of Little John 
and bound him fast with many cords, so fearful 
were they lest he should escape. And the Sheriff 
laughed aloud in glee, and thought of how he 
should avenge his stolen plate, and determined to 
make a good day’s work of it. 

“By the Saints!” he said, “you shall be drawn 
by dale and down, and hanged high on a hill in 
Barnesdale this very day.” 

“Hang and be hanged!” retorted the prisoner. 
“You may fail of your purpose if it be Heaven’s 
will.” 

Back down the hill and across the moor went 
the company speedily, for they feared a rescue. 
And as they went the stragglers joined them. 
Here a man got up feebly out of the ditch and 
rubbed his pate and fell in like a chicken with 
the pip going for its dinner. Yonder came hob¬ 
bling a man with a lame ankle, or another with 


GUY OF GISBORNE 


127 


his shins torn by the briars or another with his 
jacket all muddy from the marsh. So in truth it 
was a tatterdemalion crew that limped and strag¬ 
gled and wandered back into Barnesdale that 
day. Yet all were merry, for the Sheriff had 
promised them flagons of wine, and moreover 
they were to hang speedily the boldest outlaw in 
England, next to Robin Hood himself. 

The gallows was quickly put up and a new 
rope provided. 

“Now up with you!” commanded the Sheriff, 
“and let us see if your greenwood tricks will 
avail you to-morrow.” 

“I would that I had bold Robin’s horn,” 
muttered poor John; “methinks ’tis all up with 
me even as the Sheriff hath spoken.” 

In good sooth the time was dire and pressing. 
The rope was placed around the prisoner’s neck 
and the men prepared to haul away. 

“Are you ready?” called the Sheriff. “One— 
two-” 

But before the “three” left his lips the faint 
sound of a silver bugle came floating over the 
hill. 

“By my troth, that is Sir Guy of Gisborne’s 
horn,” quoth the Sheriff; “and he bade me not 
to delay answering its summons. He has caught 
Robin Hood.” 

“Pardon, Excellency,” said one of his men; 




128 


ROBIN HOOD 


“but if lie has caught Robin Hood, this is a 
merry day indeed. And let us save this fellow 
and build another gallows and hang them both 
together.” 

“That’s a brave thought!” said the Sheriff 
slapping his knee. “Take the rascal down and 
bind him fast to the gallows-tree against our 
return.” 

So Little John was made fast to the gallows- 
tree, while the Sheriff and all his men who could 
march or hobble went out to get Robin Hood 
and bring him in for the double hanging. 

Let us leave talking of Little John and the 
Sheriff, and see what has become of Robin 
Hood. 

In the first place, he and Little John had 
come near having a quarrel that self-same morn¬ 
ing because both had seen a curious looking 
yeoman, and each wanted to challenge him 
singly. But Robin would not give way to his 
lieutenant, and that is why John, in a huff, had 
gone with Will to Barnesdale. 

Meanwhile Robin approached the curious 
looking stranger. He seemed to be a three- 
legged creature at first sight, but on coming 
nearer you would have seen that ’twas really 
naught but a poorly clad man, who for a freak 
had covered up his rags with a capul-hide, noth- 


GUY OF GISBORNE 


129 


mg more nor less than the sun-dried skin of a 
horse, complete with head, tail, and mane. The 
skin of the head made a helmet; while the tail 
gave the curious three-legged appearance. 

“Good-morrow, good fellow,” said Robin 
cheerily, “methinks by the bow you bear in your 
hand that you should be a good archer.” 

“Indifferent good,” said the other returning 
his greeting; “but ’tis not of archery that I am 
thinking this morning, for I have lost my way 
and would fain find it again.” 

“By my faith, I could have believed ’twas 
your wits you’d lost!” thought Robin smiling. 
Then aloud: “I’ll lead you through the wood.” 
quoth he, “an you will tell me your business. 
For belike your speech is much gentler than 
your attire.” 

“Who are you to ask me my business?” 
asked the other roughly. 

“I am one of the King’s Rangers,” replied 
Robin, “set here to guard his deer ’gainst curi¬ 
ous looking strollers.” 

“Curious looking I may be,” returned the 
other, “but no stroller. Hark ye, since you are 
a Ranger, I must e’en demand your service. I 
am on the King’s business and seek an outlaw. 
Men call him Robin Hood. Are you one of his 
men?”—eyeing him keenly. 



130 


ROBIN HOOD 


“Nay, God forbid!” said Robin; “but what 
want you with him?” 

“That is another tale. But I’d rather meet 
with that proud outlaw than forty good pounds 
of the King’s money.” 

Robin now saw how the land lay. 

“Come with me, good yeoman,” said he, “and 
belike, a little later in the day, I can show you 
Robin’s haunts when he is at home. Meanwhile 
let us have some pastime under the greenwood 
tree. Let us first try the mastery at shooting 
arrows.” 

The other agreed, and they cut down two wil¬ 
low wands of a summer’s growth that grew be¬ 
neath a brier, and set them up at a distance of 
threescore yards. 

“Lead on, good fellow,” quoth Robin. “The 
first shot to you.” 

“Nay, by my faith,” said the other, “I will 
follow your lead.” 

So Robin stepped forth and bent his bow care¬ 
lessly and sent his shaft whizzing toward the 
wand, missing it by a scant inch. He of the 
horse-hide followed with more care yet was a 
good three-fingers’ breadth away. 

On the second round, the stranger led off and 
landed cleverly within the small garland at the 
top of the wand; but Robin shot far better and 
clave the wand itself, clean at the middle. 


GUY OF GISBORNE 


131 


“A blessing on your heart!” shouted Capul- 
Hide; “never saw I such shooting as that! Be¬ 
like you are better than Robin Hood himself. 
But you have not yet told me your name.” 

“Nay, by my faith,” quoth Robin, “I must 
keep it secret till you have told me your own.” 

“I do not disdain to tell it,” said the other. 
“I dwell by dale and down, and to take bold 
Robin am I sworn. This would I tell him to his 
face, were he not so great a craven. When I am 
called by my right name, I am Guy of Gisborne.” 

This he said with a great show of pride, and 
he strutted back and forth forgetful that he had 
just been beaten at archery. 

Robin eyed him quietly. “Methinks I have 
heard of you elsewhere. Do you not bring men 
to the gallows for a living?” 

“Aye, but only outlaws such as Robin Hood.” 

“But pray what harm has Robin Hood done 
you?” 

“He is a highway robber,” said Sir Guy, evad¬ 
ing the question. 

“Has he ever taken from the rich that he did 
not give again to the poor? Does he not pro¬ 
tect the women and children and side with the 
weak and helpless? Is not his greatest crime the 
shooting of a few King’s deer?” 

“Have done with your sophistry,” said Sir 


132 


ROBIN HOOD 


Guy impatiently. “I am more than ever of opin¬ 
ion that you are one of Robin’s men yourself.” 

“I have told you I am not,” quoth Robin 
briefly. “But if I am to help you catch him, 
what is your plan?” 

“Do you see this silver bugle?” said the other. 
“A long blast upon it will summon the Sheriff 
and all his men, when once I have Robin within 
my grasp. And if you show him to me, I’ll 
give you the half of my forty pounds reward.” 

“I would not help hang a man for ten times 
forty pounds,” said the outlaw. “Yet will I 
point out Robin to you for the reward I find at 
my sword’s point. I myself am Robin Hood of 
Sherwood and Barnesdale.” 

“Then have at you!” cried the other springing 
swiftly into action. His sword leaped forth from 
beneath the horse’s hide with the speed born of 
long practice, and before Robin had come to 
guard, the other had smitten at him full and foul. 
Robin eluded the lunge and drew his own 
weapon. 

“A scurvy trick!” quoth he grimly, “to strike 
at a man unprepared.” 

Then neither spoke more, but fell sternly to 
work—lunge and thrust and ward and parry— 
for two full hours the weapons smote together 
sullenly, and neither Robin Hood nor Sir Guy 
would yield an inch. I promise you that if you 


GUY OF GISBORNE 


133 


could have looked forth on the fight from behind 
the trunk of some friendly tree, you would have 
seen deadly sport such as few men beheld in 
Sherwood Forest. For the fighters glared sul¬ 
lenly at each other, the fires of hatred burning in 
their eyes. One was fighting for his life; the 
other for a reward and the King’s favor. 

Still circled the bright blades swiftly in the 
air—now gleaming in the peaceful sunlight— 
again hissing like maddened serpents. Neither 
had yet touched the other, until Robin, in an un¬ 
lucky moment, stumbled over the projecting root 
of a tree; when Sir Guy, instead of giving him 
the chance to recover himself, as any courteous 
knight would have done, struck quickly at the 
falling man and wounded him in the left side. 

“Ah, dear Lady in Heaven,” gasped Robin, 
uttering his favorite prayer, “shield me now! 
’Twas never a man’s destiny to die before his 
day.” 

And adroitly he sprang up again, and came 
straight at the other with an awkward but unex¬ 
pected stroke. The knight had raised his 
weapon high to give a final blow when Robin 
reached beneath and across his guard. One 
swift lunge, and Sir Guy of Gisborne staggered 
backward with a deep groan, Robin’s sword 
through his throat. 

Robin looked at the slain man regretfully. 


134 


ROBIN HOOD 


“You did bring it upon yourself,” said he; 
“and traitor and hireling through you were, I 
would not willingly have killed you.” 

He looked to his own wound. It was not seri¬ 
ous, and he soon staunched the blood and bound 
up the cut. Then he dragged the dead body into 
the bushes, and took off the horse’s hide and put 
it upon himself. He placed his own cloak upon 
Sir Guy, and marked his face so none might tell 
who had been slain. Robin’s own figure and face 
were not unlike the other’s. 

Pulling the capul-hide well over himself, so 
that the helmet hid most of his face, Robin 
seized the silver bugle and blew a long blast. It 
was the blast that saved the life of Little John, 
over in Barnesdale, for you and I have already 
seen how it caused the fond Sheriff to prick up 
his ears and stay the hanging, and go scurrying 
up over the hill and into the wood with his men 
in search of another victim. 

In five-and-twenty minutes up came running a 
score of the Sheriff’s best archers. 

“Did you signal us, lording?” they asked, ap¬ 
proaching Robin. 

“Aye,” said he, going to meet the puffing 
Sheriff. 

“What news, what news, Sir Guy?” said that 
officer. 

“Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne had a 


GUY OF GISBORNE 


135 


fight; and he that wears Robin’s cloak lies under 
the covert yonder.” 

“The best news I have heard in all my life!” 
exclaimed the Sheriff rubbing his hands. “I 
would that we could have saved him for the 
hanging—though I cannot now complain.” 

“The hanging?” repeated Robin. 

“Yes. This is our lucky day on the calendar. 
After you left me we narrowly missed running 
one of the fellows—I believe ’twas Will Scarlet 
—to earth; and another who came to his relief 
we were just about to hang, when your horn 
blew.” 

“Who was the other?” asked the disguised 
outlaw. 

“Whom do you suppose?” laughed the 
Sheriff.—“The best man in the greenwood, 
next to Robin Hood himself—Little John, Rey¬ 
nold Greenleaf!” For the Sheriff could not for¬ 
get the name Little John had borne under his 
own roof at Nottingham. 

“Little John!” thought Robin with a start. 
Verily that was a lucky blast of the bugle! 

“But I see you have not escaped without a 
scratch,” continued the Sheriff, becoming talka¬ 
tive through pure glee. “Here, one of you men! 
Give Sir Guy of Gisborne your horse; while 
others of you bury that dog of an outlaw where 



136 


ROBIN HOOD 


he lies. And let us hasten back to Barnesdale 
and finish hanging the other.” 

So they put spurs to their horses, and as they 
rode Robin forced himself to talk merrily, while 
all the time he was planning the best way to suc¬ 
cor Little John. 

“A boon, Sheriff,” he said as they reached the 
gates of the town. 

“What is it, worthy sir? You have but to 
speak.” 

“I do not want any of your gold, for I have 
had a brave fight. But now that I have slain the 
master, let me put an end to the man; so it shall 
be said that Guy of Gisborne dispatched the two 
greatest outlaws of England in one day.” 

“Have it as you will,” said the Sheriff, “but 
you should have asked a knight’s fee and double 
your reward, and it would have been yours. It 
isn’t every man that can take Robin Hood.” 

“No, Excellency,” answered Robin. “I say it 
without boasting, that no man took Robin Hood 
yesterday and none shall take him to-morrow.” 

Then he approached Little John, who was still 
tied to the gallows’-tree; and he said to the 
Sheriff’s men, “Now stand you back here till I 
see if the prisoner has been shrived.” And he 
stooped swiftly, and cut Little John’s bonds, and 
thrust into his hands Sir Guy’s bow and arrows, 
which he had been careful to take. 


GUY OF GISBORNE 


137 


“ ’Tis I, Robin!” he whispered. But in truth. 
Little John knew it already, and had decided 
there was to be no hanging that day. 

Then Robin blew three loud blasts upon his 
own horn, and drew forth his own bow; and be¬ 
fore the astonished Sheriff and his men could 
come to arms the arrows were whistling in their 
midst in no uncertain fashion. 

And look! through the gates and over the 
walls came pouring another flight of arrows! 
Will Scarlet and Will Stutely had watched and 
planned a rescue ever since the Sheriff and Robin 
rode back down the hill. Now in good time 
they came; and the Sheriff’s demoralized force 
turned tail and ran, while Robin and Little John 
stood under the harmless gallows, and sped swift 
arrows after them, and laughed to see them go. 

Then they joined their comrades and hasted 
back to the good greenwood, and there rested. 
They had got enough sport for one day. 


CHAPTER XII 


HOW MAID MARIAN CAME BACK TO 
SHERWOOD FOREST; ALSO, HOW 
ROBIN HOOD CAME BEFORE 
THE QUEEN 

But Robin Hood, he himself had disguis'd. 

And Marian was strangely attir'd, 

That they proved foes, and so fell to blows, 

Whose valor bold Robin admir’d. 

/p /p r|\ rp /[» #p /p 

And when he came at London’s court, 

He fell down on his knee. 

“Thou art welcome, Lockesley,” said the Queen, 
“And all thy good yeomandree.” 

N OW it fell out that one day not long 
thereafter, Robin was minded to try his 
skill at hunting. And not knowing whom 
he might meet in his rambles, he stained his face 
and put on a sorry-looking jacket and a long 
cloak before he sallied forth. As he walked, the 
peacefulness of the morning came upon him, and 
brought back to his memory the early days so 
long ago when he had roamed these same glades 
with Marian. How sweet they seemed to him 
now, and how far away! Marian, too, the dainty 
friend of his youth—would he ever see her 

again? He had thought of her very often of 

( 138 ) 


RETURN OF MAID MARIAN 139 


late, and each time with increasing desire to 
hear her clear voice and musical laugh, and see 
her eyes light up at his coming. 

Perhaps the happiness of Allan-a-Dale and 
his lady had caused Robin’s heart-strings to vi¬ 
brate more strongly; perhaps, too, the coming of 
Will Scarlet. But, certes, Robin was anything 
but a hunter this bright morning as he walked 
along with head drooping in a most love-lorn 
way. 

Presently a hart entered the glade in full view 
of him, grazing peacefully, and instantly the man 
of action awoke. His bow was drawn and a 
shaft all but loosed, when the beast fell suddenly, 
pierced by a clever arrow from the far side of 
the glade. 

Then a handsome little page sprang gleefully 
from the covert and ran toward the dying ani¬ 
mal. This was plainly the archer, for he flour¬ 
ished his bow aloft, and likewise bore a sword 
at his side, though for all that he looked a mere 
lad. 

Robin approached the hart from the other 
side. 

“How dare you shoot the King’s beasts, strip¬ 
ling?” he asked severely. 

“I have as much right to shoot them as the 
King himself,” answered the page haughtily. 
“How dare you question me?” 


140 


ROBIN HOOD 


The voice stirred Robin strongly. It seemed 
to chime into his memories of the old days. He 
looked at the page sharply and the other re¬ 
turned the glance, straight and unafraid. 

4 ‘Who are you, my lad?” Robin said more 
civilly. 

“No lad of yours, and my name’s my own,” 
retorted the other with spirit. 

“Softly! Fair and softly, sweet page, or we of 
the forest will have to teach you manners!” said 
Robin. 

“Not if you stand for the forest!” cried the 
page whipping out his sword. “Come, draw, 
and defend yourself!” 

He swung his blade valiantly; and Robin saw 
nothing for it but to draw likewise. The page 
thereupon engaged him quite fiercely, and Robin 
found that he had many pretty little tricks at 
fencing. Nathless, Robin contented himself with 
parrying, and was loth to exert all his superior 
strength upon the lad. So the fight lasted for 
above a quarter of an hour, at the end of 
which time the page was almost spent and the 
hot blood flushed his cheeks in a most charming 
manner. 

The outlaw saw his distress, and to end the 
fight allowed himself to be pricked slightly on 
the wrist. 


RETURN OF MAID MARIAN 141 


“Are you satisfied, fellow?” asked the page, 
wincing a little at sight of the blood. 

“Aye, honestly,” replied Robin; “and now per¬ 
haps you will grant me the honor of knowing 
to whom I owe this scratch?” 

“I am Richard Partington, page to Her Maj¬ 
esty, the Queen,” answered the lad with dig¬ 
nity; and again the sound of his voice troubled 
Robin sorely. 

“Why come you to the greenwood alone, 
Master Partington?” 

The lad considered his answer while wiping his 
sword with a small lace kerchief. The action 
brought a dim confused memory to Robin. The 
lad finally looked him again in the eye. 

“Forester, whether or not you be a King’s 
man, know that I seek one Robin Hood, an out¬ 
law, to whom I bring amnesty from the Queen. 
Can you tell me aught of him?” And while 
awaiting his answer, he replaced the kerchief in 
his shirt. As he did so, the gleam of a golden 
trophy caught the outlaw’s eye. 

Robin started forward with a joyful cry. 

“Ah! I know you now! By the sight of 
yon golden arrow won at the Sheriff’s tourney, 
you are she on whom I bestowed it, and none 
other than Maid Marian!” 

“You—are-?” gasped Marian, for it was 

she—“not Robin!” 



142 


ROBIN HOOD 


“Robin’s self!” said he gayly; and forthwith, 
clad as he was in rags, and stained of face, he 
clasped the dainty page close to his breast, and 
she forsooth yielded right willingly. 

“But Robin!” she exclaimed presently, “I 
knew you not, and was rude, and wounded 
you!” 

“ ’Twas nothing,” he replied laughingly, “so 
long as it brought me you.” 

But she made more ado over the sore wrist 
than Robin had received for all his former hurts 
put together. And she bound it with the little 
kerchief, and said “Now ’twill get well!” and 
Robin was convinced she spoke the truth, for he 
never felt better in all his life. The whole woods 
seemed tinged with a roseate hue, since Marian 
had come again. 

But she, while happy also, was ill at ease; and 
Robin with a man’s slow discernment at last saw 
that it was because of her boy’s attire. He 
thought bluntly that there was naught to be 
ashamed of, yet smilingly handed her his tattered 
long cloak, which she blushingly put on, and 
forthwith recovered her spirits directly. 

Then they began to talk of each other’s varied 
fortunes, and of the many things which had 
parted them; and so much did they find to tell 
that the sun had begun to decline well into the 
afternoon before they realized how the hours sped. 


RETURN OF MAID MARIAN 143 


“I am but a sorry host!” exclaimed Robin, 
springing to his feet. “I have not once invited 
you to my wild roof.” 

_ t_ 

“And I am but a sorry page,” replied Marian; 
“for I had clean forgot that I was Richard Part¬ 
ington, and really did bring you a message from 
the Queen!” 

“Tell me on our way home, and there you 
shall be entrusted to Mistress Dale. While the 
first of my men we meet will I send back for 
your deer.” 

So she told him, as they walked back through 
the glade, how that the fame of his prowess had 
reached the Queen’s ears, in London town. And 
her Majesty had said, “Fain would I see this 
bold yeoman, and behold his skill at the long¬ 
bow.” And the Queen had promised him am¬ 
nesty if he and four of his archers would repair 
to London against the next tournament the week 
following, there to shoot against King Henry’s 
picked men, of whom the King was right vain. 
All this Marian told in detail, and added: 

“When I heard Her Majesty say she desired 
to see you, I asked leave to go in search of you, 
saying I had known you once. And the Queen 
was right glad, and bade me go, and sent this 
gold ring to you from off her finger, in token of 
her faith.” 

Then Robin took the ring and bowed his head 


144 


ROBIN HOOD 


and kissed it loyally. “By this token will I go 
to London town,” quoth he, “and ere I part with 
the Queen’s pledge, may the hand that bears it 
be stricken off at the wrist!” 

By this time they were come to the grove be¬ 
fore the cave, and Robin presented Maid Marian 
to the band, who treated her with the greatest re¬ 
spect. Will Scarlet was especially delighted to 
greet again his old time friend, while Allan-a- 
Dale and his good wife bustled about to make 
her welcome in their tiny thatched cottage. 

That evening after they had supped royally 
upon the very hart that Marian had slain, Allan 
sang sweet songs of Northern minstrelsy to the 
fair guest as she sat by Robin’s side, the golden 
arrow gleaming in her dark hair. The others all 
joined in the chorus, from Will Scarlet’s baritone 
to Friar Tuck’s heavy bass. Even Little John 
essayed to sing, although looked at threateningly 
by Much the miller’s son. 

Then Robin bade Marian repeat her message 
from the Queen, which Marian did in a way be¬ 
fitting the dignity of her royal mistress. After 
which the yeomen gave three cheers for the 
Queen and three more for her page, and drank 
toasts to them both, rising to their feet. 

“Ye have heard,” quoth Robin standing 
forth, “ how that Her Majesty—whom God pre¬ 
serve!—wishes but four men to go with me. 


RETURN OF MAID MARIAN 145 


Wherefore, I choose Little John and Will 
Stutely, my two lieutenants, Will Scarlet, my 
cousin, and Allan-a-Dale, my minstrel. Mistress 
Dale, also, can go with her husband and be com¬ 
pany for the Queen’s page. We will depart with 
early morning, decked in our finest. So stir ye, 
my lads! and see that not only your tunics are 
fresh, but your swords bright and your bows and 
arrows fit. For we must be a credit to the 
Queen as well as to the good greenwood. You, 
Much, with Stout Will Lester, and John, the 
widow’s son, shall have command of the band 
while we are away; and Friar Tuck shall 
preside over the needs of your souls and stom¬ 
achs.” 

The orders were received with shouts of ap¬ 
proval, and toasts all around were drunk again in 
nut-brown ale, ere the company dispersed to rest 
after making ready for the journey. 

The next morning was as fine a summer’s day 
as ever you want to see, and the green leaves of 
the forest made a pleasing background for the 
gay picture of the yeomen setting forth. Says 
the old ballad—it was a seemly sight to see how 
Robin Hood himself had dressed, and all his 
yeomanry. He clothed his men in Lincoln 
green, and himself in scarlet red, with hats of 
black and feathers white to bravely deck each 


146 


ROBIN HOOD 


head. Nor were the two ladies behindhand, I 
ween, at the bedecking. 

Thus the chosen party of seven sallied forth 
being accompanied to the edge of the wood by 
the whole band, who gave them a merry parting 
and Godspeed! 

The journey to London town was made with¬ 
out incident. The party proceeded boldly along 
the King’s highroad, and no man met them who 
was disposed to say them nay. Besides, the good 
Queen’s warrant and ring would have answered 
for them, as indeed it did at the gates of London. 
So on they sped and in due course came to the 
palace itself and awaited audience with the 
Queen. 

Now the King had gone that day to Finsbury 
Field, where the tourney was soon to be held, 
in order to look over the lists and see some of 
his picked men whom he expected to win against 
all comers. So much had he boasted of these 
men, that the Queen had secretly resolved to win 
a wager of him. She had heard of the fame of 
Robin Hood and his yeomen, as Marian had 
said; and Marian on her part had been overjoyed 
to be able to add a word in their favor and to set 
out in search of them. 

To-day the Queen sat in her private audience- 
room chatting pleasantly with her ladies, when 
in came Mistress Marian Fitzwalter attired again 


RETURN OF MAID MARIAN 147 


as befitted her rank of lady-in-waiting. She 
courtesied low to the Queen and awaited per¬ 
mission to speak. 

“How now!” said the Queen smiling; “is this 
my lady Marian, or the page, Richard Parting¬ 
ton?” 

“Both, an it please Your Majesty. Richard 
found the man you sought, while Marian brought 
him to you.” 

“Where is he?” asked the Queen eagerly. 

“Awaiting your audience—he and four of his 
men, likewise a lady of whose wooing and wed¬ 
ding I can tell you a pretty story at another 
time.” 

“Have them admitted.” 

So Marian gave orders to a herald, and pres¬ 
ently Robin Hood and his little party entered 
the room. 

Now the Queen had half-expected the men to 
be rude and uncouth in appearance, because of 
their wild life in the forest; but she was delight¬ 
fully disappointed. Indeed she started back in 
surprise and almost clapped her hands. For, 
sooth to say, the yeomen made a brave sight, 
and in all the court no more gallant men could be 
found. Marian felt her cheeks glow with pride, 
at sight of the half-hidden looks of admiration 
sent forth by the other ladies-in-waiting. 

Robin had not forgot the gentle arts taught by 



148 


ROBIN HOOD 


his mother, and he wore his fine red velvet tunic 
and breeches with the grace of a courtier. We 
have seen, before, what a dandified gentleman 
Will Scarlet was; and Allan-a-Dale, the minstrel, 
was scarcely less goodly to look upon. While 
the giant Little John and broad-shouldered Will 
Stutely made up in stature what little they lacked 
in outward polish. Mistress Dale, on her part, 
looked even more charming, if possible than on 
the momentous day when she went to Plympton 
Church to marry one man and found another. 

Thus came the people of the greenwood before 
the Queen, in her own private audience room. 
And Robin advanced and knelt down before 
her, and said: 

“Here am I, Robin Hood,—I and my chosen 
men! At Your Majesty’s bidding am I come, 
bearing the ring of amnesty which I will protect 
—as I would protect Your Majesty’s honor— 
with my life!” 

“Thou art welcome, Lockesley,” said the 
Queen smiling graciously. “Thou art come in 
good time, thou and all thy brave yeomanry.” 

Then Robin presented each of his men in turn, 
and each fell on his knee and was greeted with 
most kindly words. And the Queen kissed fair 
Mistress Dale upon the cheek, and bade her re¬ 
main in the palace with her ladies while she was 
in the city. And she made all the party be 


RETURN OF MAID MARIAN 149 


seated to rest themselves after their long journey. 
Fine wines were brought, and cake, and rich 
food for their refreshment. And as they ate 
and drank, the Queen told them further of the 
tourney to be held at Finsbury Field, and of 
how she desired them to wear her colors and 
shoot for her. Meantime, she concluded, they 
were to lie by quietly and be known of no man. 

To do all this, Robin and his men pledged 
themselves full heartily. Then at the Queen’s re¬ 
quest , they related to her and her ladies some of 
their merry adventures; whereat the listeners 
were vastly entertained, and laughed heartily. 
Then Marian, who had heard of the wedding at 
Plympton Church, told it so drolly that tears 
stood in the Queen’s eyes from merriment. 

“My lord Bishop of Hereford!” she said. 
“ ’Twas indeed a comical business for him! I 
shall keep that to twit his bones, I promise you! 
So this is our minstrel?” she added presently 
turning to Allan-a-Dale. “Methinks I have al¬ 
ready heard of him. Will he not harp awhile 
for us to-day?” 

Allan bowed low, and took a harp which was 
brought to him, and he thrummed the strings and 
sang full sweetly the border songs of the North 
Countree. And the Queen and all her ladies 
listened in rapt silence till all the songs were 
ended. 


CHAPTER XIII 


HOW THE OUTLAWS SHOT IN KING 
HARRY’S TOURNEY 

The King is into Finsbury Field 
Marching in battle ’ray; 

And after follows bold Robin Hood, 

And all his yeomen gay. 

T HE morning of the great archery contest 
dawned fair and bright, bringing with it 
a fever of impatience to every citizen of 
London town, from the proudest courtier to 
the lowest kitchen wench. Aye, and all the 
surrounding country was early awake, too, and 
began to wend their way to Finsbury Field, 
a fine broad stretch of practice ground near 
Moorfields. Around three sides of the Field were 
erected tier upon tier of seats for the spectators, 
with the royal boxes and booths for the nobility 
and gentry in the centre. Down along one end 
were pitched gayly colored tents for the different 
bands of King’s archers. There were ten of these 
bands, each containing a score of men headed by 
a captain of great renown; so to-day there were 
ten of the pavilions, each bearing aloft the Royal 
Arms and vari-colored pennants which fluttered 
lightly in the fresh morning breeze. 

( 150 ) 


KING HARRY’S TOURNEY 151 


Each captain’s flag was of a peculiar color and 
device. First came the royal purple streamer of 
Tepus, own bow-bearer to the King, and es¬ 
teemed the finest archer in all the land. Then 
came the yellow of Clifton of Buckinghamshire; 
and the blue of Gilbert of the White Hand,—he 
who was renowned in Nottinghamshire; and the 
green of Elwyn the Welshman; and the white of 
Robert of Cloudesdale; and after them five 
other captains of bands, each a man of proved 
prowess. As the Queen had said aforetime, the 
King was mightily proud of his archers, and 
now held this tourney to show their skill and, 
mayhap, to recruit their forces. 

The uprising tiers of seats filled early, upon 
this summer morning, and the merry chatter of 
the people went abroad like the hum of bees in a 
hive. The royal party had not yet put in an ap¬ 
pearance, nor were any of the King’s archers vis¬ 
ible. So the crowd was content to hide its im¬ 
patience by laughing jibes passed from one sec¬ 
tion to another, and crying the colors of their 
favorite archers. In and out among the seats 
went hawkers, their arms laden with small pen¬ 
nants to correspond with the rival tents. Other 
vendors of pie and small cakes and cider also 
did a thrifty business, for so eager had some of 
the people been to get good seats, that they had 
rushed away from home without their breakfast. 



152 


ROBIN HOOD 


Suddenly the gates at the far end, next the 
tents, opened wide, and a courier in scarlet and 
gold, mounted upon a white horse, rode in blow¬ 
ing lustily upon the trumpet at his lips; and be¬ 
hind him came six standard-bearers riding 
abreast. The populace arose with a mighty 
cheer. King Harry had entered the arena. He 
bestrode a fine white charger and was clad in a 
rich dark suit of slashed velvet with satin and 
gold facings. His hat bore a long curling ostrich 
plume of pure white, and he doffed it graciously 
in answer to the shouts of the people. By his side 
rode the Queen, looking regal and charming in 
her long brocade riding-habit; while immediately 
behind them came Prince Richard and Prince 
John each attired in knightly coats of mail and 
helmets. Lords and ladies of the realm followed; 
and, finally, the ten companies of archers, whose 
progress round the field was greeted with hardly 
less applause than that given the King himself. 

The King and Queen dismounted from their 
steeds, ascended the steps of the royal box, and 
seated themselves upon two thrones, decked with 
purple and gold trappings, upon a dais sheltered 
by striped canvas. In the booths at each side 
the members of the Court took their places; 
while comely pages ran hither and thither bear¬ 
ing the royal commands. ’Twas a lordly sight, I 
ween, this shifting of proud courtiers, flashing of 


KING HARRY’S TOURNEY 153 


jeweled fans, and commingling of bright colors 
with costly gems! 

Now the herald arose to command peace, and 
soon the clear note of his bugle rose above the 
roar of the crowd and hushed it to silence. The 
tenscore archers ranged themselves in two long 
rows on each side of the lists—a gallant array— 
while their captains, as a special mark of favor, 
stood near the royal box. 

“Come hither, Tepus,” said the King to his 
bow-bearer. “Come measure me out this line, 
how long our mark must be.” 

“What is the reward?” then asked the Queen. 

“That will the herald presently proclaim,” an¬ 
swered the King. “For the first prize we have 
offered a purse containing twoscore golden 
pounds; for second, a purse containing twoscore 
silver pennies; and for third a silver bugle, inlaid 
with gold. Moreover, if the King’s companies 
keep these prizes, the winning companies shall 
have, first, two tuns of Rhenish wine; second, two 
tuns of English beer; and, third, five of the fat¬ 
test harts that run on Dallom Lea. Methinks 
that is a princely wager,” added King Harry 
laughingly. 

Up spake bold Clifton, secure in the King’s 
favor. “Measure no marks for us, most sovereign 
liege,” quoth he; “for such largess as that, we’ll 
shoot at the sun and the moon.” 


154 


ROBIN HOOD 


“ ’Twill not be so far as that,” said the King. 
“But get a line of good length, Tepus, and set up 
the targets at tenscore paces.” 

Forthwith, Tepus bowed low, and set up ten 
targets, each bearing the pennant of a different 
company, while the herald stood forth again and 
proclaimed the rules and prizes. The entries 
were open to all comers. Each man, also, of the 
King’s archers should shoot three arrows at the 
target bearing the colors of his band, until the 
best bowman in each band should be chosen. 
These ten chosen archers should then enter a 
contest for an open target—three shots apiece— 
and here any other bowman whatsoever was 
asked to try his skill. The result at the open 
targets should decide the tourney. 

Then all the people shouted again, in token 
that the terms of the contest pleased them; and 
the archers waved their bows aloft, and wheeled 
into position facing their respective targets. 

The shooting now began, upon all the targets 
at once, and the multitude had so much ado to 
watch them, that they forgot to shout. Besides, 
silence was commanded during the shooting. Of 
all the fine shooting that morning, I have not 
now space to tell you. The full score of men 
shot three times at each target, and then three 
times again to decide a tie. For, more than 
once, the arrow shot by one man would be split 



KING HARRY’S TOURNEY 155 


wide open by his successor. Every man’s shaft 
bore his number to ease the counting; and so 
close would they stick at the end of a round, 
that the target looked like a big bristle hair¬ 
brush. Then must the spectators relieve their 
tense spirits by great cheering; while the King 
looked mightily proud of his skilled bowmen. 

At last the company targets were decided, and 
Tepus, as was expected, led the score, having 
made six exact centres in succession. Gilbert of 
the White Hand followed with five, and Clifton 
with four. Two other captains had touched 
their centre four times, but not roundly. While 
in the other companies it so chanced that the 
captains had been out-shot by some of the men 
under them. 

The winners then saluted the King and Queen, 
and withdrew for a space to rest and renew their 
bow-strings for the keenest contest of all; while 
the lists were cleared and a new target—the open 
one—was set up at twelvescore paces. At the 
bidding of the King, the herald announced that 
the open target was to be shot at to decide 
the title of the best archer in all England; and 
any man there present was privileged to try for 
it. But so keen had been the previous shooting, 
that many yeomen who had come to enter the 
lists now would not do so; and only a dozen men 
stepped forth to give in their names. 



156 


ROBIN HOOD 


“By my halidom!” said the King, “these 
must be hardy men to pit themselves against my 
archers!” 

“Think you that your ten chosen fellows are 
the best bowmen in all England?” asked the 
Queen. 

“Aye, and in all the world beside,” answered 
the King; “and thereunto I would stake five 
hundred pounds.” 

“I am minded to take your wager,” said the 
Queen musingly, “and will e’en do so if you 
grant me a boon.” 

“What is it?” asked the King. 

“If I produce five archers who can out-shoot 
your ten, will you grant my men full grace and 
amnesty?” 

“Assuredly!” quoth the King in right good 
humor. “Nathless, I tell you now, your wager 
is in jeopardy, for there never were such bowmen 
as Tepus and Clifton and Gilbert!” 

“Hum!” said the Queen puckering her brow, 
still as though lost in thought. “I must see if 
there be none present to aid me in my wager. 
Boy, call hither Sir Richard of the Lea and my 
lord Bishop of Hereford!” 

The two summoned ones, who had been wit¬ 
nessing the sport, came forward. 

“Sir Richard,” said she, “thou are a full 
knight and good. Would’st advise me to meet a 


KING HARRY’S TOURNEY 157 


wager of the King’s, that I can produce other 
archers as good as Tepus and Gilbert and Clif¬ 
ton?” 

“Nay, Your Majesty,” he said, bending his 
knee. “There be none present that can match 
them. Howbeit,”—he added dropping his voice 
—“I have heard of some who lie hid in Sher¬ 
wood Forest who could show them strange tar¬ 
gets.” 

The Queen smiled and dismissed him. 

“Come hither, my lord Bishop of Hereford,” 
quoth she, “would’st thou advance a sum to 
support my wager ’gainst the King?” 

“Nay, Your Majesty,” said the fat Bishop, 
“an you pardon me, I’d not lay down a penny on 
such a bet. For by my silver mitre, the King’s 
archers are men who have no peers.” 

“But suppose I found men whom thou knew - 
est to be masters at the bow,” she insisted 
roguishly, “would’st thou not back them? Be¬ 
like, I have heard that there be men round about 
Nottingham and Plympton who carry such mat¬ 
ters with a high hand!” 

The Bishop glanced nervously around, as if 
half expecting to see Robin Hood’s men stand¬ 
ing near; then turned to find the Queen looking 
at him with much amusement lurking in her 
eyes. 

“Odds bodikins! The story of my misadven- 



158 


ROBIX HOOD 


ture must have preceded me!” he thought, rue¬ 
fully. Aloud he said, resolved to face it out, 

“Your Majesty, such tales are idle and ex¬ 
aggerated. An you pardon me, I would add to 
the King's wager that his men are invincible.” 

“As it pleases thee,” replied the Queen im¬ 
perturbably. “How much?” 

“Here is my purse,” said the Bishop uneasily. 
“It contains fifteen score nobles, or near an hun¬ 
dred pounds.” 

“I’ll take it at even money,” she said, dis¬ 
missing him; “and Your Majesty”—turning to 
the King who had been conversing with the two 
princes and certain of the nobles—“I accept 
your wager of five hundred pounds.” 

“Very good,” said the King, laughing as 
though it were a great jest. “But what has 
minded you to take such interest in the sport, of 
a sudden?” 

“It is as I have said. I have found five men 
whom I will pit against any you may produce.” 

“Then we will try their skill speedily,” quoth 
the King. “How say you, if first we decide this 
open target and then match the five best thereat 
against your unknown champions?” 

“Agreed,” said the Queen. Thereupon she 
signed to Maid Marian to step forward, from a 
near-by booth where she sat with other ladies-in- 


KING HARRY’S TOURNEY 159 


waiting, and whispered something in her ear. 
Marian courtesied and withdrew. 

Now the ten chosen archers from the King’s 
bands came forth again and took their stand; and 
with them stood forth the twelve untried men 
from the open lists. Again the crowd was stilled, 
and every eye hung upon the speeding of the 
shafts. Slowly but skilfully each man shot, and 
as his shaft struck within the inner ring a deep 
breath broke from the multitude like the sound 
of the wind upon the seashore. And now Gil¬ 
bert of the White Hand led the shooting, and 
’twas only by the space of a hair’s-breadth upon 
the line that Tepus tied his score. Stout 
Elwyn, the Welshman, took third place; one of 
the private archers, named Geoffrey, came 
fourth; while Clifton must needs content himself 
with fifth. The men from the open lists shot 
fairly true, but nervousness and fear of ridicule 
wrought their undoing. 

The herald then came forward again, and, in¬ 
stead of announcing the prize-winners, pro¬ 
claimed that there was to be a final contest. 
Two men had tied for first place, declared His 
Majesty the King, and three others were entitled 
to honors. Now all these five were to shoot 
again, and they were to be pitted against five 
others of the Queen’s choosing—men who had 
not yet shot upon that day. 


160 


ROBIN HOOD 


A thrill of astonishment and excitement swept 
around the arena. “Who were these men of the 
Queen’s choosing?” was upon every lip. The 
hubbub of eager voices grew intense; and in the 
midst of it all, the gate at the far end of the field 
opened and five men entered and escorted a lady 
upon horseback across the arena to the royal box. 
The lady was instantly recognized as Mistress 
Marian of the Queen’s household, but no one 
seemed to know the faces of her escort. Four 
were clad in Lincoln green, while the fifth who 
seemed to be the leader, was dressed in a brave 
suit of scarlet red. For arms, they carried simply 
a stout bow, a sheaf of new arrows, and a short 
hunting-knife. 

When the little party came before the dais on 
which the King and Queen sat, the yeomen doffed 
their caps humbly, while Maid Marian was as¬ 
sisted to dismount. 

“Your Gracious Majesty,” she said, addressing 
the Queen, “these be the men for whom you sent 
me, and who are now come to wear your colors 
and serve you in the tourney.” 

The Queen leaned forward and handed them 
each a scarf of green and gold. 

“Lockesley,” she said in a clear voice, “I 
thank thee and thy men for this service. Know 
that I have laid a wager with the King that ye 



FOUR WERE Cl.AD IN LINCOLN GREEN 




KING HARRY’S TOURNEY 161 


can outshoot the best five whom he has found in 
all his bowmen.” 

The five men pressed the scarfs to their lips in 
token of fealty. 

The King turned to the Queen inquiringly. 

“Who are these men you have brought before 
us?” asked he. 

Up came the worthy Bishop of Hereford, 
growing red and pale by turns. 

“Your pardon, my liege lord!” cried he; “but 
I must denounce these fellows as outlaws. Yon 
man in scarlet is none other than Robin Hood 
himself. The others are Little John and Will 
Stutely and Will Scarlet and Allan-a-Dale—all 
famous in the North Countree for their deeds of 
violence.” 

“As my lord Bishop personally knows!” 
added the Queen significantly. 

The King’s brows grew dark. The name of 
Robin Hood was well known to him, as to every 
man there present. 

“Is this true?” he demanded sternly. 

“Aye, my lord,” responded the Queen de¬ 
murely. “But, bethink you—I have your royal 
promise of grace and amnesty.” 

“That will I keep,” said the King, holding in 
check his ire by a mighty effort. “But, look 
you! Only forty days do I grant of respite. 


162 


ROBIN HOOD 


When this time has elapsed, let these bold out¬ 
laws look to their safety!” 

Then turning to his five victorious archers, who 
had drawn near, he added, “Ye have heard, my 
men, how that I have a wager with the Queen 
upon your prowess. % Now here be men of her 
choosing—certain free shafts of Sherwood and 
Barnesdale. Wherefore look well to it, Gilbert 
and Tepus and Geoffrey and Elwyn and Clifton! 
If ye outshoot these knaves, I will fill your caps 
with silver pennies—aye, and knight the man 
who stands first. But if ye lose, I give the prizes, 
for which ye have just striven, to Robin Hood 
and his men, according to my royal word.” 

“Robin Hood and his men!” the saying flew 
round the arena with the speed of wild-fire, and 
every neck craned forward to see the famous fel¬ 
lows who had dared to brave the King’s anger, 
because of the Queen. 

Another target was now set up, at the same 
distance as the last, and it was decided that the 
ten archers should shoot three arrows in turn. 
Gilbert and Robin tossed up a penny for the lead, 
and it fell to the King’s men. So Clifton was 
bidden to shoot first. Forth he stood, planting 
his feet firmly, and wetting his fingers before 
plucking the string. For he was resolved to bet¬ 
ter his losing score of that day. And in truth he 
did so, for the shaft he loosed sped true, and 


KING HARRY’S TOURNEY 163 


landed on the black bull’s-eye, though not in the 
exact centre. Again he shot, and again he hit 
the black, on the opposite rim. The third shaft 
swerved downward and came within the second 
ring, some two fingers’ breadth away. Nathless, 
a general cry went up, as this was the best shoot¬ 
ing Clifton had done that day. 

Will Scarlet was chosen to follow him, and 
now took his place and carefully chose three 
round and full-feathered arrows. 

“Careful, my sweet coz!” quoth Robin in a 
low tone. “The knave has left wide space at the 
centre for all of your darts.” 

But Robin gave Will the wrong caution, for 
over-much care spoiled his aim. His first shaft 
flew wide and lodged in the second ring even 
further away than the worst shot of Clifton. 

“Your pardon, coz!” quoth Robin hastily. 
“Bid care go to the bottom of the sea, and do 
you loose your string before it sticks to your 
fingers!” 

And Will profited by this hint, and loosed his 
next two shafts as freely as though they flew 
along a Sherwood glade. Each struck upon the 
bull’s eye, and one even nearer the centre than 
his rival’s mark. Yet the total score was ad¬ 
judged in favor of Clifton. At this Will Scarlet 
bit his lip, but said no word, while the crowd 
shouted and waved yellow flags for very joy that 


164 


ROBIN HOOD 


the King’s man had overcome the outlaw. They 
knew, also, that this demonstration would please 
the King. 

The target was now cleared for the next 
two contestants—Geoffrey and Allan-a-Dale. 
Whereat, it was noticed that many ladies in the 
Queen’s booths boldly flaunted Allan’s colors, 
much to the honest pride which glowed in the 
cheeks of one who sat in their midst. 

“In good truth,” said more than one lady 
to Mistress Dale, “if thy husband can handle the 
longbow as skilfully as the harp, his rival has 
little show of winning!” 

The saying augured well. Geoffrey had shot 
many good shafts that day; and indeed had risen 
from the ranks by virtue of them. But now 
each of his three shots, though well placed in 
triangular fashion around the rim of the bull’s- 
eye, yet allowed an easy space for Allan to 
graze within. His shooting, moreover, was so 
prettily done, that he was right heartily ap¬ 
plauded—the ladies and their gallants leading 
in the hand-clapping. 

Now you must know that there had long been 
a friendly rivalry in Robin Hood’s band as to 
who was the best shot, next after Robin himself. 
He and Will Stutely had lately decided their 
marksmanship, and Will had found that Robin’s 
skill was now so great as to place the leader at 


KING HARRY’S TOURNEY 165 

1 

the head of all good bowmen in the forest. But 
the second place lay between Little John and 
Stutely, and neither wished to yield to the other. 
So to-day they looked narrowly at their leader to 
see who should shoot third. Bobin read their 
faces at a glance, and laughing merrily broke off 
two straws and held them out. 

“The long straw goes next!” he decided and 
it fell to Stutely. 

Elwyn the Welshman was to precede him; and 
his score was no whit better than Geoffrey’s. 
But Stutely failed to profit by it. His besetting 
sin at archery had ever been an undue haste and 
carelessness. To-day these were increased by a 
certain moodiness, that Little John had out¬ 
ranked him. So his first two shafts flew swiftly, 
one after the other, to lodging places outside the 
Welshman’s mark. 

“Man! man!” cried Robin entreatingly, “you 
do forget the honor of the Queen, and the credit 
of Sherwood!” 

“I ask your pardon, master!” quoth Will 
humbly enough, and loosing as he spoke his last 
shaft. It whistled down the course unerringly 
and struck in the exact centre—the best shot yet 
made. 

Now some shouted for Stutely and some 
shouted for Elwyn; but Elwyn’s total mark was 



166 


ROBIN HOOD 


declared the better. Whereupon the King turned 
to the Queen. 

“What say you now?” quoth he in some tri¬ 
umph. “Two out of the three first rounds have 
gone to my men. Your outlaws will have to 
shoot better than that in order to save your 
wager!” 

The Queen smiled gently. 

“Yea, my lord,” she said. “But the twain 
who are left are able to do the shooting. You 
forget that I still have Little John and Robin 
Hood.” 

“And you forget, my lady, that I still have 
Tepus and Gilbert.” 

So each turned again to the lists and awaited 
the next rounds in silent eagerness. I ween that 
King Harry had never watched the invasion of 
an enemy with more anxiety than he now felt. 

Tepus was chosen to go next and he fell into 
the same error with Will Scarlet. He held the 
string a moment too long, and both his first 
and second arrows came to grief. One of them, 
however, came within the black rim, and he fol¬ 
lowed it up by placing his third in the full centre, 
just as Stutely had done in his last. These two 
centres were the fairest shots that had been made 
that day; and loud was the applause which 
greeted this second one. But the shouting was 
as nothing to the uproar which followed Little 


KING HARRY’S TOURNEY 167 


John’s shooting. That good-natured giant 
seemed determined to outdo Tepus by a tiny 
margin in each separate shot; for the first and 
the second shafts grazed his rival’s on the inner 
side, while for the third Little John did the old 
trick of the forest: he shot his own arrow in a 
graceful curve which descended from above upon 
Tepus’s final centre shaft with a glancing blow 
that drove the other out and left the outlaw’s in 
its place. 

The King could scarce believe his eyes. “By 
my halidom!” quoth he, “that fellow deserves 
either a dukedom or a hanging! He must be in 
league with Satan himself! Never saw I such 
shooting.” 

“The score is tied, my lord,” said the Queen, 
“we have still to see Gilbert and Robin Hood.” 

Gilbert now took his stand and slowly shot his 
arrows, one after another, into the bull’s-eye. 
’Twas the best shooting he had yet done, but 
there was still the smallest of spaces left—if you 
looked closely—at the very centre. 

“Well done, Gilbert!” spoke up Robin Hood. 
“You are a foeman worthy of being shot against.” 
He took his own place as he spoke. “Now if 
you had placed one of your shafts there” —loos¬ 
ing one of his own—“and another there ”—out 
sped the second—“and another there ”—the third 


168 


ROBIN HOOD 


was launched—“mayhap the King would have 
declared you the best bowman in all England!” 

But the last part of his merry speech was 
drowned in the wild tumult of applause which 
followed his exploit. His first two shafts had 
packed themselves into the small space left at the 
bull’s eye; while his third had split down between 
them, taking half of each, and making all three 
appear from a distance as one immense arrow. 

Up rose the King in amazement and anger. 

“Gilbert is not yet beaten!” he cried. “Did 
he not shoot within the mark thrice? And that 
is allowed a best in all the rules of archery.” 

Robin bowed low. 

“As it please Your Majesty!” quoth he. 
“But may I be allowed to place the mark for the 
second shooting?” 

The King waved his hand sullenly. There¬ 
upon Robin prepared another old trick of the 
greenwood, and got him a light, peeled willow 
wand which he set in the ground in place of the 
target. 

“There, friend Gilbert,” called he gayly; “be¬ 
like you can hit that!” 

“I can scarce see it from here,” said Gilbert, 
“much less hit it. Nathless, for the King’s 
honor, I will try.” 

But this final shot proved his undoing, and his 
shaft flew harmlessly by the thin white streak. 


KING HARRY’S TOURNEY 169 


Then came Robin to his stand again, and picked 
his arrow with exceeding care, and tried his 
string. Amid a breathless pause he drew the 
good yew bow back to his ear, glanced along the 
shaft, and let the feathered missile fly. Straight 
it sped, singing a keen note of triumph as it went. 
The willow wand was split in twain, as though it 
had met a hunter’s knife. 

“Verily, I think your bow is armed with witch¬ 
craft!” cried Gilbert. “For I did not believe such 
shooting possible.” 

“You should come to see our merry lads in 
the greenwood,” retorted Robin lightly. “For 
willow wands do not grow upon the cobble¬ 
stones of London town.” 

Meanwhile the King in great wrath had risen 
to depart, first signing to the judges to distribute 
the prizes. Never a word said he, of good or ill, 
to the Queen, but mounted his horse and, fol¬ 
lowed by his sons and knights, rode off the field. 
The archers dropped upon one knee as he passed, 
but he gave them a single baleful look and was 
gone. 

Then the Queen beckoned the outlaws to ap¬ 
proach, and they did so and knelt at her feet. 

“Right well have ye served me,” she said, 
“and sorry am I that the King’s anger is aroused 
thereby. But fear ye not. His word and grace 
hold true. As to these prizes ye have gained, I 


170 


ROBIN HOOD 


add others of mine own—the wagers I have won 
from His Majesty the King and from the lord 
Bishop of Hereford. Buy with some of these 
moneys the best swords ye can find in London, 
for all your band, and call them the swords of 
the Queen. And swear with them to protect all 
the poor and the helpless and the women-kind 
who come your way.” 

“We swear,” said the five yeomen solemnly. 

Then the Queen gave each of them her hand 
to kiss, and arose and departed with all her 
ladies. And after they were gone, the King’s 
archers came crowding around Robin and his 
men, eager to get a glimpse of the fellows about 
whom they had heard so much. And back of 
them came a great crowd of the spectators push¬ 
ing and jostling in their efforts to come nearer. 

“Verily!” laughed Little John, “they must 
take us for a Merry Andrew show!” 

Now the judges came up, and announced to 
each man his prize, according to the King’s com¬ 
mand. To Robin was given the purse contain¬ 
ing twoscore golden pounds; to Little John the 
twoscore silver pennies; and to Allan-a-Dale the 
fine inlaid bugle, much to his delight, for he was 
skilled at blowing sweet tunes upon the horn 
hardly less than handling the harp strings. But 
when the Rhenish wine and English beer and 
harts of Dallom Lea were spoken of, Robin said: 


KING HARRY’S TOURNEY 171 


“Nay, what need we of wine or beer, so far 
from the greenwood? And ’twould be like 
carrying coals to Newcastle, to drive those harts 
to Sherwood! Now Gilbert and Tepus and their 
men have shot passing well. Wherefore, the 
meat and drink must go to them, an they will 
accept it of us.” 

“Right gladly,” replied Gilbert grasping his 
hand. “Ye are good men all, and we will toast 
you every one, in memory of the greatest day at 
archery that England has ever seen, or ever will 
see!” 

Thus said all the King’s archers, and the hand 
of good-fellowship was given amid much shout¬ 
ing and clapping on the shoulder-blades. 

And so ended King Harry’s tourney, whose 
story has been handed down from sire to son, 
even unto the present day. 


CHAPTER XIV 


HOW ROBIN HOOD WAS SOUGHT OF 

THE TINKER 

And while the tinker fell asleep, 

Robin made haste away. 

And left the tinker in the lurch, 

For the great shot to pay. 

K ING HARRY was as good as his word. 
Robin Hood and his party were suffered 
to depart from London—the parting bring¬ 
ing keen sorrow to Marian—and for forty days 
no hand was raised against them. But at the 
end of that time, the royal word was sent to 
the worthy Sheriff at Nottingham that he must 
lay hold upon the outlaws without further delay, 
as he valued his office. 

Indeed, the exploits of Robin and his band, 
ending with the great tourney in Finsbury Field, 
had made a mighty stir through all England, and 
many there were to laugh boldly at the Notting- 
ham official for his failures to capture the out¬ 
laws. 

The Sheriff thereupon planned three new ex¬ 
peditions into the greenwood, and was even 
brave enough to lead them, since he had fifteen- 
score men at his beck and call each time. But 

( 172 ) 


HOW ROBIN WAS SOUGHT 173 


never the shadow of an outlaw did he see, for 
Robin’s men lay close, and the Sheriff’s men 
knew not how to come at their chief hiding-place 
in the cove before the cavern. 

Now the Sheriff’s daughter had hated Robin 
Hood bitterly in her heart ever since the day 
he refused to bestow upon her the golden arrow, 
and shamed her before all the company. His 
tricks, also, upon her father were not calculated 
to lessen her hatred, and so she sought about for 
means to aid the Sheriff in catching the enemy. 

4 ‘There is no need to go against this man with 
force of arms,” she said. “We must meet his 
tricks with other tricks of our own.” 

“Would that we could!” groaned the Sheriff. 
“The fellow is becoming a nightmare unto 
me.” 

“Let me plan a while,” she replied. “Belike 
I can cook up some scheme for his undoing.” 

“Agreed,” said the Sheriff, “and if anything 
comes of your planning, I will e’en give you an 
hundred silver pennies for a new gown, and a 
double reward to the man who catches the out¬ 
law.” 

Now upon that same day, while the Sheriff’s 
daughter was racking her brains for a scheme, 
there came to the Mansion House a strolling 
tinker named Middle, a great gossip and brag¬ 
gart. And as he pounded away upon some pots 


174 


ROBIN HOOD 


and pans in the scullery, he talked loudly about 
what he would do, if he once came within reach 
of that rascal Robin Hood. 

“It might be that this simple fellow could do 
something through his very simplicity,” mused 
the Sheriff’s daughter, overhearing his prattle. 
“Odds bodikins! ’twill do no harm to try his 
service, while I bethink myself of some better 
plan.” 

And she called him to her, and looked him 
over—a big brawny fellow enough, with an hon¬ 
est look about the eye, and a countenance so 
open that when he smiled his mouth seemed the 
only country on the map. 

“I am minded to try your skill at outlaw 
catching,” she said, “and will add goodly meas¬ 
ure to the stated reward if you succeed. Do 
you wish to make good your boasted prowess?” 

The tinker grinned broadly. 

“Yes, your ladyship,” he said. 

“Then here is a warrant made out this morn¬ 
ing by the Sheriff himself. See that you keep it 
safely and use it to good advantage.” 

And she dismissed him. 

Middle departed from the house mightily 
pleased with himself, and proud of his commis¬ 
sion. He swung his crab-tree staff recklessly in 
his glee—so recklessly that he imperiled the 
shins of more than one angry passer-by—and 







HOW ROBIN WAS SOUGHT 175 


vowed he’d crack the ribs of Robin Hood with 
it though he were surrounded by every outlaw in 
the whole greenwood. 

Spurred on by the thoughts of his own com¬ 
ing bravery, he left the town and proceeded 
toward Barnesdale. The day was hot and 
dusty and at noon-time he paused at a way- 
side inn to refresh himself. He began by eating 
and drinking and dozing, in turn, then sought to 
do all at once. 

Mine host of the “Seven Does” stood by, dis¬ 
cussing the eternal Robin with a drover. 

“Folk do say that my lord Sheriff has sent 
into Lincoln for more men-at-arms and horses, 
and that when he has these behind him, he’ll 
soon rid the forest of these fellows.” 

“Of whom speak you?” asked the tinker 
sitting up. 

“Of Robin Hood and his men,” said the 
host; “but go to sleep again. You will never 
get the reward!” 

“And why not?” asked the tinker, rising with 
great show of dignity. 

“Where our Sheriff has failed, and the stout 
Guy of Gisborne, and many more beside, it be¬ 
hooves not a mere tinker to succeed.” 

The tinker laid a heavy hand upon the inn¬ 
keeper’s fat shoulder, and tried to look impress¬ 


ive. 


176 


ROBIN HOOD 


“There is your reckoning, host, upon the ta¬ 
ble. I must e’en go upon my way, because I 
have more important business than to stand here 
gossiping with you. But be not surprised, if, the 
next time you see me, I shall have with me no 
less person than Robin Hood himself!” 

And he strode loftily out the door and walked 
up the hot white road toward Barnesdale. 

He had not gone above a quarter of a mile 
when he met a young man with curling brown 
hair and merry eyes. The young man carried 
his light cloak over his arm, because of the heat, 
and was unarmed save for a light sword at his 
side. The newcomer eyed the perspiring tinker 
in a friendly way, and seeing he was a stout fel¬ 
low, accosted him. 

“Good-day to you!” said he. 

“Good-day to you!” said the tinker; “and a 
morrow less heating.” 

“Aye,” laughed the other. “Whence come 
you? And know you the news?” 

“What is the news?” said the gossipy tinker, 
pricking up his ear; “I am a tinker by trade, 
Middle by name, and come from over against 
Banbury.” 

“Why as for the news,” laughed the stranger, 
“I hear that two tinkers were set i’ the stocks 
for drinking too much ale and beer.” 


HOW ROBIN WAS SOUGHT 177 


“If that be all your news/’ retorted Middle, 
“I can beat you clear to the end of the lane.” 

“What news have you? Seeing that you go 
from town to town, I ween you can outdo a 
poor country yokel at tidings.” 

“All I have to tell,” said the other, “is that I 
am especially commissioned”—he felt mightily 
proud of these big words—“especially commis¬ 
sioned to seek a bold outlaw which they call 
Robin Hood.” 

“So?” said the other, arching his brows. “How 
‘especially commissioned’?” 

“I have a warrant from the Sheriff, sealed with 
the King’s own seal, to take him where I can; 
and if you can tell me where he is, I will e’en 
make a man of you.” 

“Let me see the warrant,” said the other, “to 
satisfy myself if it be right; and I will do the 
best I can to bring him to you.” 

“That will I not,” replied the tinker; “I will 
trust none with it. And if you’ll not help me to 
come at him I must forsooth catch him by my¬ 
self.” 

And he made his crab-tree staff whistle shrill 
circles in the air. 

The other smiled at the tinker’s simplicity, 
and said: 

“The middle of the road on a hot July day is 
not a good place to talk things over. Now if 


178 


ROBIN HOOD 


you’re the man for me and I’m the man for you, 
let’s go back to the inn, just beyond the bend of 
road, and quench our thirst and cool our heads 
for thinking.” 

“Marry, come up!” quoth the tinker. “That 
will I! For though I’ve just come from there, 
my thirst rises mightily at the sound of your 
voice.” 

So back he turned with the stranger and pro¬ 
ceeded to the “Seven Does.” 

The landlord arched his eyebrows silently 
when he saw the two come in, but served them 
willingly. 

The tinker asked for wine, and Robin for ale. 
The wine was not the most cooling drink in the 
cellars, nor the clearest headed. Nathless, the 
tinker asked for it, since it was expensive and 
the other man had invited him to drink. They 
lingered long over their cups, Master Middle 
emptying one after another while the stranger 
expounded at great length on the best plans for 
coming at and capturing Robin Hood. 

In the end the tinker fell sound asleep while in 
the act of trying to get a tankard to his lips. 
Then the stranger deftly opened the snoring 
man’s pouch, took out the warrant, read it, and 
put it in his own wallet. Calling mine host to 
him, he winked at him with a half smile and told 
him that the tinker would pay the whole score 


HOW ROBIN WAS SOUGHT 179 


when he awoke. Thus was Master Middle left 
in the lurch “for the great shot to pay.” 

Nathless, the stranger seemed in no great 
hurry. He had the whim to stay awhile and see 
what the droll tinker might do when he awoke. 
So he hid behind a window shutter, on the out¬ 
side, and awaited events. 

Presently the tinker came to himself with a 
prodigious yawn, and reached at once for another 
drink. 

“What were you saying, friend, about the best 
plan (ya-a-a-ah!) for catching this fellow?— 
Hello!—where’s the man gone?” 

He had looked around and saw no one with 
him at the table. 

“Host! host!” he shouted, “where is that fel¬ 
low who was to pay my reckoning?” 

“I know not,” answered the landlord sharply. 
“Mayhap he left the money in your purse.” 

“No he didn’t!” roared Middle, looking there¬ 
in. “Help! help! I’ve been robbed! Look you, 
host, you are liable to arrest for high treason! I 
am here upon the King’s business, as I told 
you earlier in the day. And yet while I did rest 
under your roof, thinking you were an honest 
man (hie!) and one loving of the King, my pouch 
has been opened and many matters of state 
taken from it.” 



180 


ROBIN HOOD 


“Cease your bellowing!” said the landlord. 
“What did you lose?” 

“Oh, many weighty matters, I do assure you. 
I had with me, item, a warrant, granted under 
the hand of my lord High Sheriff of Notting¬ 
ham, and sealed with the King’s own seal for 
the capture (hie!)—and arrest—and overcoming 
of a notorious rascal, one Robin Hood of Barnes- 
dale. Item, one crust of bread. Item, one lump 
(hie!) of solder. Item, three pieces of twine. 
Item, six single keys (hie!), useful withal. Item, 
twelve silver pennies, the which I earned this 
week (hie!) in fair labor. Item-” 

“Have done with your items!” said the host. 
“And I marvel greatly to hear you speak in such 
fashion of your friend, Robin Hood of Barnes- 
dale. For was he not with you just now? and 
did he not drink with you in all good-fellow¬ 
ship?” 

“Wh-a-at? That Robin Hood?” gasped Mid¬ 
dle with staring eyes. “Why did you not tell 
me?” 

“Faith, I saw no need o’ telling you. Did 
you not tell me the first time you were here to¬ 
day, that I need not be surprised if you came 
back with no less person than Robin Hood him¬ 
self?” 

“Jesu give me pardon!” moaned the tinker. 
“I see it all now. He got me to drinking, and 



HOW ROBIN WAS SOUGHT 181 


then took my warrant, and my pennies, and my 
crust-” 

“Yes, yes,” interrupted the host. “I know 
all about that. But pay me the score for both of 
you.” 

“But I have no money, gossip. Let me go 
after that vile bag-o’-bones, and I’ll soon get it 
out of him.” 

“Not so,” replied the other. “If I waited for 
you to collect from Robin Hood, I would soon 
close up shop.” 

“What is the account?” asked Middle. 

“Ten shillings, just.” 

“Then take here my working-bag and my 
good hammer too; and if I light upon that knave, 
I will soon come back after them.” 

“Give me your leathern coat as well,” said 
mine host; the hammer and bag of tools are as 
naught to me.” 

“Gramercy!” cried Master Middle, losing 
what was left of his temper. “It seems that I 
have escaped one thief only to fall into the hands 
of another. If you will but walk with me out 
into the middle of the road, I’ll give you such a 
crack as shall drive some honesty into your thick 
skull.” 

“You are wasting your breath and my time,” 
retorted the landlord. “Give me your things, 
and get you gone after your man, speedily-” 



182 


ROBIN HOOD 


Middle thought this to be good advice; so he 
strode forth from the “Seven Does” in a black 
mood. 

Ere he had gone half a mile, he saw Robin 
Hood walking demurely among the trees a little 
in front of him. 

“Ho, there, you villain!” roared the tinker. 
“Stay your steps! I am desperately in need of 
you this day!” 

Robin turned about with a surprised face. 

“What knave is this?” he asked gently, “who 
comes shouting after me?” 

“No knave! no knave at all!” panted the other 
rushing up. “But an honest—man—who would 
have—that warrant—and the money for drink!” 

“Why, as I live, it is our honest tinker who 
was seeking Robin Hood! Did you find him, 
gossip?” 

“Marry, that did I! and I’m now going to 
pay him my respects!” 

And he plunged at him, making a sweeping 
stroke with his crab-tree cudgel. 

Robin tried to draw his sword, but could not 
do it for a moment through dodging the other’s 
furious blows. When he did get it in hand, the 
tinker had reached him thrice with resounding 
thwacks. Then the tables were turned, for he 
dashed in right manfully with his shining blade 
and made the tinker give back again. 


HOW ROBIN WAS SOUGHT 183 


The greenwood rang with the noise of the fray. 
’Twas steel against wood, and they made a ter¬ 
rible clattering when they came together. Robin 
thought at first that he could hack the cudgel to 
pieces, for his blade was one of Toledo—finely 
tempered steel which the Queen had given him. 
But the crab-tree staff had been fired and hard¬ 
ened and seasoned by the tinker’s arts until it 
was like a bar of iron—no pleasant neighbor for 
one’s ribs. 

Robin presently found this out to his sorrow. 
The long reach and long stick got to him when 
’twas impossible for him to touch his antagonist. 
So his sides began to ache sorely. 

4 ‘Hold your hand, tinker,” he said at length. 
“I cry a boon of you.” 

“Before I do it,” said the tinker, “I’d hang 
you on this tree.” 

But even as he spoke, Robin found the mo¬ 
ment’s grace for which he longed; and imme¬ 
diately grasped his horn and blew the three well- 
known blasts of the greenwood. 

“A murrain seize you!” roared the tinker, 
commencing afresh. “Up to your old tricks 
again, are you? Well, I’ll have time to finish 
my job, if I hurry.” 

But Robin was quite able to hold his own at a 
pinch, and they had not exchanged many lunges 
and passes when up came Little John and Will 



184 


ROBIN HOOD 


Scarlet and a score of yeomen at their heels. 
Middle was seized without ceremony, while 
Robin sat himself down to breathe. 

“What is the matter?” quoth Little John, 
“that you need sit so weariedly upon the high¬ 
way side?” 

“Faith, that rascally tinker yonder has paid 
his score well upon my hide,” answered Robin 
ruefully. 

“That tinker, then,” said Little John, “must 
be itching for more work. Fain would I try if 
he can do as much for me.” 

“Or me,” said Will Scarlet, who like Little 
John was always willing to swing a cudgel. 

“Nay,” laughed Robin. “Belike I could have 
done better, an he had given me time to pull a 
young tree up by the roots. But I hated to 
spoil the Queen's blade upon his tough stick or 
no less tough hide. Besides, he had a good quar¬ 
rel with me. He had a warrant for my arrest 
which I stole from him.” 

“Also, item, twelve silver pennies,” interposed 
the tinker, unsubdued; “item, one crust of bread, 
’gainst my supper. Item, one lump of solder. 
Item, three pieces of twine. Item, six single 
keys. Item-” 

“Yes, I know,” quoth the merry Robin; “I 
stood outside the landlord’s window and heard 
you count over your losses. Here they are 



HOW ROBIN WAS SOUGHT 185 


again; and the twelve silver pennies are turned 
by magic into gold. Here also, if you will, is my 
hand.” 

“I take it heartily, with the pence!” cried 
Middle. ‘‘By my leathern coat and tools, which 
I shall presently have out of that sly host, I 
swear that I never yet met a man I liked as well 
as you! An you and your men here will take me, 
I swear I’ll serve you honestly. Do you want a 
tinker? Nay, but verily you must! Who else 
can mend and grind your swords and patch your 
pannikins—and fight, too, when occasion serve? 
Mend your pots! mend your pa-a-ans!” 

And he ended his speech with the sonorous 
cry of his craft. 

By this time the whole band was laughing up¬ 
roariously at the tinker’s talk. 

“What say you, fellows?” asked Robin. 
“Would not this tinker be a good recruit?” 

“That he would!” answered Will Scarlet, 
clapping the new man on the back. “He will 
keep Friar Tuck and Much the miller’s son from 
having the blues.” 

So amid great merriment and right good fel¬ 
lowship the outlaws shook Middle by the hand, 
and he took oath of fealty, and thought no more 
of the Sheriff’s daughter. 

We have already given many of the words of 
the old ballad which tells of this adventure. It 


186 


ROBIN HOOD 


is a rollicking song of a rollicking deed, and 
ends with Robin’s speech after the jolly tinker 
was sworn into the fellowship: 

“In manhood he’s a mettled man 
And a metal-man by trade; 

Never thought I that any man 
Should have made me so afraid. 

“And if he will he one of us, 

We will take all one fare; 

And whatsoever we do get, 

He shall have his rightful share.” 

So the tinker was content 
With them to go along, 

And with them a part to take: 

And so I end my song. 




CHAPTER XV 


HOW ROBIN HOOD WAS TANNED OF 

THE TANNER 


In Nottingham there lived a jolly tanner. 

With a hey down , down, a down down! 

His name was Arthur-a-Bland; 

There was ne’er a squire in Nottinghamshire 
Dare bid bold Arthur stand. 

And as he went forth, in a summer’s morning. 

With a hey down , down , a down down! 

To the forest of merrie Sherwood, 

To view the red deer, that range here and there. 
There met he with bold Robin Hood. 

T HE Sheriff's daughter bided for several 
days in the faint hope that she might hear 
tidings of the prattling tinker. But never a 
word heard she, and she was forced to the con¬ 
clusion that her messenger had not so much as 
laid eyes upon the outlaw. Little recked she 
that he was, even then, grinding sword-points 
and sharpening arrows out in the good green¬ 
wood, while whistling blithely or chatting merrily 
with the good Friar Tuck. 

Then she bethought herself of another good 
man, one Arthur-a-Bland, a tanner who dwelt in 
Nottingham town and was far-famed in the tour¬ 
neys round about. He had done some pretty 

( 187 ) 


188 


ROBIN HOOD 


tricks at archery, but was strongest at wrestling 
and the quarter-staff. For three years he had 
cast all comers to the earth in wrestling until the 
famous Eric o’ Lincoln broke a rib for him in 
a mighty tussle. Howsoever, at quarter-staff he 
had never yet met his match; so that there was 
never a squire in Nottinghamshire dare bid bold 
Arthur stand. 

With a long pike-staff on his shoulder. 

So well he could clear his way 
That by two and three he made men flee 
And none of them could stay. 

Thus at least runs the old song which tells of 
his might. 

“This is just the man for me!” thought the 
Sheriff’s daughter to herself; and she forthwith 
summoned him to the Mansion House and com¬ 
missioned him to seek out Robin Hood. 

The warrant was quite to Arthur’s liking, for 
he was happiest when out in the forest taking a 
sly peep at the King’s deer; and now he reck¬ 
oned that he could look at them boldly, instead 
of by the rays of the moon. He could say to 
any King’s Forester who made bold to stop him: 
“I am here on the King’s business!” 

“Gramercv! No more oak-bark and ditch- 
water and the smell of half-tanned hides to-dav!” 
quoth he, gaily. “I shall e’en see what the free 


HOW ROBIN WAS TANNED 189 


air of heaven tastes like, when it sweeps through 
the open wood.” 

So the tanner departed joyfully upon his er¬ 
rand, but much more interested in the dun deer 
of the forest than in any two-legged rovers 
therein. This interest had, in fact, caused the 
Foresters to keep a shrewd eye upon him in the 
past, for his tannery was apt to have plenty of 
meat in it that was more like venison than the 
law allowed. As for the outlaws, Arthur bore 
them no ill-will; indeed he had felt a secret envy 
in his heart at their free life; but he was not 
afraid to meet any two men who might come 
against him. Nathless, the Sheriff’s daughter 
did not choose a very good messenger, as you 
shall presently see. 

Away sped the tanner, a piece of bread and 
some wine in his wallet, a good longbow and ar¬ 
rows slung across his shoulder, his stout quarter- 
staff in his hand, and on his head a cap of trebled 
raw-hide so tough that it would turn the edge of 
a broadsword. He lost no time in getting out of 
the hot sun and into the welcome shade of the 
forest, where he stalked cautiously about seeking 
some sign of the dun deer. 

Now it so chanced that upon that very morn¬ 
ing Robin Hood had sent Little John to a neigh¬ 
boring village to buy some cloth of Lincoln 
green for new suits for all the band. Some of 


190 


ROBIN HOOD 


the money recently won of the King was being 
spent in this fashion, ’gainst the approach of 
winter. Will Scarlet had been sent on a similar 
errand to Barnesdale some time before, if you re¬ 
member, only to be chased up the hill without 
his purchase. So to-day Little John was chosen, 
and for sweet company’s sake Robin went with 
him a part of the way until they came to the 
“Seven Does,” the inn where Robin had recently 
played his prank upon Middle the tinker. Here 
they drank a glass of ale to refresh themselves 
withal, and for good luck; and Robin tarried a 
bit while Little John went on his errand. 

Presently Robin entered the edge of the wood, 
when whom should he see but Arthur-a-Bland, 
busily creeping after a graceful deer that browsed 
alone down the glade. 

“Now by Saint George and the Dragon!” 
quoth Robin to himself. “I much fear that yon 
same fellow is a rascally poacher come after our 
own and the King’s meat!” 

For you must know, by a curious process of 
reasoning, Robin and his men had hunted in the 
royal preserves so long that they had come to 
consider themselves joint owners to every animal 
which roamed therein. 

“Nay!” he added, “this must be looked into! 
That cow-skin cap in sooth must hide a scurvy 
varlet!” 


HOW ROBIN WAS TANNED 191 


And forthwith he crept behind a tree, and 
thence to another, stalking our friend Arthur as 
busily as Arthur was stalking the deer. 

This went on for quite a space, until the tanner 
began to come upon the deer and to draw his 
bow in order to tickle the victim’s ribs with a 
cloth-yard shaft. But just at this moment Robin 
unluckily trod upon a twig which snapped and 
caused the tanner to turn suddenly. 

Robin saw that he was discovered, so he 
determined to put a bold face on the matter, 
and went forward with some smart show of 
authority. 

“Hold!” he cried; “stay your hand! Why, 
who are you, bold fellow, to range so boldly here? 
In sooth, to be brief, ye look like a thief that has 
come to steal the King’s deer.” 

“Marry, it is scant.concern of yours, what I 
look like!” retorted Arthur-a-Bland. “Who are 
you, who speak so bravely?” 

“You shall soon find out who I am!” quoth 
Robin, determining to find some sport in the 
matter. “I am a keeper of this forest. The 
King knows that I am looking after his deer for 
him; and therefore we must stay you.” 

“Have you any assistants, friend?” asked the 
tanner calmly. “For it is not one man alone 
who can stop me.” 

“Nay truly, gossip,” replied Robin. “I have 


192 


ROBIN HOOD 


a good yew bow, also a right sharp blade at my 
side. Nathless, I need no better assistant than a 
good oak-graff like unto yours. Give me a 
baker’s dozen of minutes with it and it shall 
pleasure me to crack that pate of yours for your 
sauciness!” 

“Softly, my man! Fair and softly! Big 
words never killed so much as a mouse—least of 
all yon deer which has got away while you were 
filling all the woods with your noisy breath. So 
choose your own playthings. For your sword 
and your bow I care not a straw; nor for all 
your arrows to boot. If I get but a knock at 
you, ‘twill be as much as you’ll need.” 

“Now by our Lady! Will you listen to the 
braggart?” cried Robin in a fine rage. “Marry, 
but I’ll teach ye to be more mannerly!” 

So saying he unbuckled his belt; and, flinging 
his bow upon the ground he seized hold of a 
young sapling that was growing near by. His 
hunting-knife soon had it severed and lopped into 
shape. 

“Now come on, fellow!” said Arthur-a-Bland, 
seeing that he was ready. “And if I do not tan 
your hide for you in better shape than ever calf¬ 
skin was turned into top-boots, may a murrain 
seize me!” 

“Stay,” said Robin, “methinks my cudgel is 
half a foot longer than yours. I would have 



HOW ROBIN WAS TANNED 193 


them of even length before you begin your 
tanning.” 

“I pass not for length,” bold Arthur replied; 
“My staff is long enough, as you will shortly find 
out. Eight foot and a half, and ’twill knock 
down a calf”—here he made it whistle in the air— 
“and I hope it will knock down you.” 

Forthwith the two men spat on their hands, 
laid firm hold upon their cudgels and began 
slowly circling round each other, looking for an 
opening. 

Now it so chanced that Little John had fared 
expeditiously with his errand. He had met the 
merchant, from whom he was wont to buy Lin¬ 
coln green, coming along the road; and had made 
known his wants in a few words. The merchant 
readily undertook to deliver the suits by a certain 
day in the following month. So Little John, 
glad to get back to the cool shelter of the green¬ 
wood, hasted along the road lately taken by 
Robin. 

Presently he heard the sound of angry voices, 
one of which he recognized as his captain’s. 

“Now, Heaven forfend,” quoth he, “that 
Robin Hood has fallen into the clutches of a 
King’s man! I must take a peep at this fray.” 

So he cautiously made his way from tree to 
tree, as Robin had done, till he came to the little 


194 


ROBIN HOOD 


open space where Robin and Arthur were cir¬ 
cling about each other with angry looks, like two 
dogs at bay. 

“Ha! this looks interesting!” muttered Little 
John to himself, for he loved a good quarter-staff 
bout above anything else in the world, and was 
the best man at it in all the greenwood. And he 
crawled quietly underneath a friendly bush— 
much as he had done when Robin undertook to 
teach Will Scarlet a lesson—and chuckled softly 
to himself and slapped his thigh and prepared to 
watch the fight at his ease. 

Indeed it was both exciting and laughable. 
You would have chuckled one moment and 
caught your breath the next, to see those two 
stout fellows swinging their sticks—each half as 
long again as the men were, and thick as their 
arm—and edging along sidewise, neither wish¬ 
ing to strike the first blow. 

At last Robin could no longer forbear, and his 
good right arm swung round like a flash. Ping! 
went the stick on the hack of the other’s head, 
raising such a welt that the blood came. But the 
tanner did not seem to mind it at all, for bing! 
went his own staff in return, giving Robin as 
good as he had sent. Then the battle was on, 
and furiously it waged. Fast fell the blows, but 
few save the first ones landed, being met in mid- 



HOW ROBIN WAS TANNED 195 


air by a counter-blow till the thwacking sticks 
sounded like the steady roll of a kettle-drum and 
the oak-bark flew as fine as it had ever done in 
Arthur-a-Bland’s tannery. 

Round and round they fought, digging their 
heels into the ground to keep from slipping, so 
that you would have vowed there had been a 
yoke t>f oxen ploughing a potato-patch. Round 
and round, up and down, in and out, their arms 
working like threshing-machines, went the yeo¬ 
man and the tanner, for a full hour, each becom¬ 
ing more astonished every minute that the other 
was such a good fellow. While Little John from 
underneath his bushy covert had much ado to 
keep from roaring aloud in pure joy. 

Finally Robin saw his chance and brought a 
full arm blow straight down upon the other’s 
head with a force that would have felled a bul¬ 
lock. But Arthur’s trebled cow-skin cap here 
stood him in good stead: the blow glanced off 
without doing more than stunning him. Nath- 
less, he reeled and had much ado to keep from 
falling; seeing which Robin stayed his hand—to 
his own sorrow, for the tanner recovered his wits 
in a marvelous quick space and sent back a side¬ 
long blow which fairly lifted Robin off his feet 
and sent him tumbling on to the grass. 

“Hold your hand! hold your hand!” roared 
Robin with what little breath he had left. “Hold, 


196 


ROBIN HOOD 


I say, and I will give you the freedom of the 
greenwood.” 

“Why, God-a-mercy,” said Arthur; “I may 
thank my staff for that—not you.” 

“Well, well, gossip! let it be as it may. But 
prithee tell me your name and trade. I like to 
know fellows who can hit a blow like that same 
last.” 

“I am a tanner,” replied Arthur-a-Bland. 
“In Nottingham long have I wrought. And if 
you’ll come to me I swear I’ll tan your hides for 
naught.” 

“Odds bodikins!” quoth Robin ruefully, “Mine 
own hide is tanned enough for the present. 
Howsoever, there be others in this wood I would 
fain see you tackle. Harkee, if you will leave 
your tan-pots and come with me, as sure as my 
name is Robin Hood, you shan’t want gold or 
fee.” 

“By the breath o’ my body!” said Arthur, 
“that will I do!” and he gripped him gladly by 
the hand. “But I am minded that I clean forgot 
the errand that brought me to Sherwood. I was 
commissioned by some, under the Sheriff’s r.oof, 
to capture you.” 

“So was a certain tinker, now in our service,” 
said Robin smilingly. 

“Verily ’tis a new way to recruit forces!” said 
the tanner, laughing loudly. “But tell me, good 


HOW ROBIN WAS TANNED 197 


Robin Hood, where is Little John? I fain would 
see him, for he is a kinsman on my mother’s side.” 

“Here am I, good Arthur-a-Bland!” said a 
voice; and Little John literally rolled out from 
under the bush to the sward. His eyes were full 
of tears from much laughter which had well-nigh 
left him powerless to get on his feet. 

As soon as the astonished tanner saw who it 
was, he gave Little John a mighty hug around 
the neck, and lifted him up on his feet, and the 
two pounded each other on the back soundly, so 
glad were they to meet again. 

“O, man, man!” said Little John as soon as he 
had got his breath. “Never saw I so fine a fight 
in all my born days. You did knock him over 
like as he were a ninepin!” 

“And you do joy to see me thwacked about 
on the ribs?” asked Robin with some choler. 

“Nay, not that, master!” said Little John. 
“But ’tis the second time I have had special tick¬ 
ets to a show from beneath the bushes, and I 
cannot forbear my delight. Howsoever, take no 
shame unto yourself, for this same Arthur-a- 
Bland is the best man at the quarter-staff in all 
Nottinghamshire. It commonly takes two or 
three men to hold him.” 

“Unless it be Eric o’ Lincoln,” said Arthur 
modestly; “and I well know how you paid him 
out at the Fair.” 


198 


ROBIN HOOD 


“Say no more!” said Robin, springing to his 
feet; “for well I know that I have done good 
business this day, and a few bruises are easy pay¬ 
ment for the stout cudgel I am getting into the 
band. Your hand again, good Arthur-a-Bland! 
Come! let us after the deer of which I spoiled 
your stalking.” 

“Right gladly!” quoth Arthur. “Come, 
Cousin Little John! Away with vats and tan- 
bark and vile-smelling cowhides! I’ll follow you 
two in the sweet open air to the very ends of the 
earth!” 


CHAPTER XVI 


HOW ROBIN HOOD MET SIR RICH¬ 
ARD OF THE LEA 

Then answered him the gentle knight 
With words both fair and free: 

“God save thee, my good Robin, 

And all thy company!” 

N OW you must know that some months 
passed by. The winter dragged its weary 
length through Sherwood Forest, and 
Robin Hood and his merry men found what cheer 
they could in the big crackling fires before their 
woodland cave. Friar Tuck had built him a 
little hermitage not far away, where he lived 
comfortably with his numerous dogs. 

The winter, I say, reached an end at last, and 
the blessed spring came—and went. Another 
summer passed on apace, and still neither King 
nor Sheriff nor Bishop could catch the outlaws, 
who, meanwhile, thrived and prospered mightily 
in their outlawry. The band had been increased 
from time to time by picked men such as Arthur- 
a-Bland and David of Doncaster—he who was 
the j oiliest cobbler for miles around—until it 
now numbered a full sevenscore of men; seven 
companies each with its stout lieutenant serv- 

( 199 ) 



200 


ROBIN HOOD 


ing under bold Robin Hood. And still they re¬ 
lieved the purses of the rich, and aided the poor, 
and feasted upon King’s deer, until the lank 
Sheriff of Nottingham was well-nigh distracted. 

Indeed, that official would probably have lost 
his office entirely, had it not been for the fact of 
the King’s death. Henry passed away, as all 
kings will, in common with ordinary men, and 
Richard of the Lion Heart was proclaimed as his 
successor. 

Then Robin and his men, after earnest debate, 
resolved to throw themselves upon the mercy of 
the new King, swear allegiance, and ask to be 
organized into Royal Foresters. So Will Scar¬ 
let and Will Stutely and Little John were sent 
to London with this message, which they were 
first to entrust privately to Maid Marian. But 
they soon returned with bad tidings. The new 
King had by now set forth upon a crusade to 
the Holy Land, and Prince John, his brother, 
was impossible to deal with—being crafty, cruel 
and treacherous. He was laying his hands upon 
all the property which could easily be seized; 
among other estates, that of the Earl of Hunt¬ 
ingdon, Robin’s old enemy and Marian’s father, 
who had lately died. 

Marian herself was in sore straits. Not only 
had her estates been taken away, and the maid 
been deprived of the former protection of the 



ROBIN AND SIR RICHARD 201 


Queen, but the evil Prince John had persecuted 
her with his attentions. He thought that since 
the maid was defenseless he could carry her away 
to one of his castles and none could gainsay 
him. 

No word of this peril reached Robin’s ears, 
although his men brought him word of the seizure 
of the Huntingdon lands. Nathless, he was 
greatly alarmed for the safety of Maid Marian, 
and his heart cried out for her strongly. She 
had been continually in his thoughts ever since 
the memorable shooting at London town. 

One morning in early autumn when the leaves 
were beginning to turn gold at the edges, the 
chestnut-pods to swell with promise of fatness, 
and the whole wide woodland was redolent with 
the ripe fragrance of fruit and flower, Robin was 
walking along the edge of a small open glade 
busy with his thoughts. The peace of the woods 
was upon him, despite his broodings of Marian, 
and he paid little heed to a group of does quietly 
feeding among the trees at the far edge of the 
glade. 

But presently this sylvan picture was rudely 
disturbed for him. A stag, wild and furious, 
dashed suddenly forth from among the trees, 
scattering the does in swift alarm. The vicious 
beast eyed the green-and-gold tunic of Robin, 
and, lowering its head, charged at him impet- 


202 


ROBIN HOOD 


uously. So sudden was its attack that Robin had 
no time to bend his bow. He sprang behind a 
tree while he seized his weapon. 

A moment later the wild stag crashed blindly 
into the tree trunk with a shock which sent the 
beast reeling backwards, while the dislodged 
leaves from the shivering tree fell in a small 
shower over Robin’s head. 

“By my halidom, I am glad it was not me you 
struck, my gentle friend!” quoth Robin, fixing 
an arrow upon the string. “Sorry indeed would 
be any one’s plight who should encounter you in 
this black humor.” 

Scarcely had he spoken when he saw the stag 
veer about and fix its glances rigidly on the 
bushes to the left side of the glade. These were 
parted by a delicate hand, and through the open¬ 
ing appeared the slight figure of a page. It was 
Maid Marian, come back again to the greenwood! 
She advanced, unconscious alike of Robin’s hor¬ 
rified gaze and the evil fury of the stag. 

She was directly in line with the animal, so 
Robin dared not launch an arrow. Her own 
bow was slung across her shoulder, and her small 
sword would be useless against the beast’s charge. 
But now as she caught sight of the stag she 
pursed her lips as though she would whistle to it. 

“For the love of God, dear lady!” cried Robin; 
and then the words died in his throat. 


ROBIN AND SIR RICHARD 203 


With a savage snort of rage, the beast rushed 
at this new and inviting target—rushed so swiftly 
and from so short a distance that she could not 
defend herself. She sprang to one side as it 
charged down upon her, but a side blow from its 
antlers stretched her upon the ground. The stag 
stopped, turned, and lowered its head preparing 
to gore her to death. 

Already its cruel horns were coming straight 
for her, while she, white of face and bewildered 
by the sudden attack, was struggling to rise and 
draw her sword. A moment more and the end 
would have come. But the sharp voice of Robin 
had already spoken. 

“Down, Marian!” he cried, and the girl in¬ 
stinctively obeyed, just as the shaft from Robin’s 
bow went whizzing close above her head and 
struck with terrific force full in the centre of the 
stag’s forehead. 

The beast stumbled in its charge and fell dead, 
across the body of the fainting maid. 

Robin was quickly by her side, and dragged 
the beast from off the girl. Picking her up in 
his strong arms he bore her swiftly to the side 
of one of the many brooks which watered the 
vale. 

He dashed cool water upon her face, roughly 
almost, in his agony of fear that she was already 
dead, and he could have shed tears of joy to see 


204 


ROBIN HOOD 


those poor, closed eyelids tremble. He redou¬ 
bled his efforts; and presently she gave a little 
gasp. 

“Where am I? What is’t?” 

“You are in Sherwood, dear maid, tho’, i’ faith, 
we gave you a rude reception!” 

She opened her eyes and sat up. “Methinks 
you have rescued me from sudden danger, sir,” 
she said. 

Then she recognized Robin for the first time, 
and a radiant smile came over her face, together 
with the rare blush of returned vitality, and her 
head sank upon his shoulder with a little tremble 
and sigh of relief. 

“Oh, Robin, it is you!” she murmured. 

“Aye, ’tis I. Thank heaven, I was at hand to 
do you service!” Robin’s tones were deep and 
full of feeling. “I swear, dear Marian, that I 
will not let you from my care henceforth.” 

Not another word was spoken for some mo¬ 
ments, while her head still rested confidently 
upon his breast. Then recollecting, he suddenly 
cried: 

“Gramercy, I make but a poor nurse! I have 
not even asked if any of your bones are broken.” 

“No, not any,” she answered springing lightly 
to her feet to show him. “That foolish dizziness 
o’ercame me for the nonce, but we can now pro¬ 
ceed on our way.” 


ROBIN AND SIR RICHARD 205 


“Nay, I meant not that,” he protested; “why 
should we haste? First tell me of the news in 
London town, and of yourself.” 

So she told him how that the Prince had seized 
upon her father’s lands, and had promised to re¬ 
store them to her if she would listen to his suit; 
and how that she knew he meant her no good, 
for he was even then suing for a Princess’s 
hand. 

“That is all, Robin,” she ended simply; “and 
that is why I donned again my page’s costume 
and came to you in the greenwood.” 

Robin’s brow had grown fiercely black at the 
recital of her wrongs; and he had laid stern hand 
upon the hilt of his sword. 

“By this sword which Queen Eleanor gave 
me!” he said impetuously; “and which was de¬ 
voted to the service of all womankind, I take 
oath that Prince John and all his armies shall not 
harm you!” 

So that is how Maid Marian came to take up 
her abode in the greenwood, where the whole 
band of yeomen welcomed her gladly and swore 
fealty; and where the sweet lady of Allan-a-Dale 
made her fully at home. 

But this was a day of deeds in Sherwood For¬ 
est, and we ’gan to tell you of another happen¬ 
ing which led to later events. 

While Robin and Marian were having their 


200 


ROBIN HOOD 


encounter with the stag, Little John, Much the 
miller’s son, and Will Scarlet had sallied forth to 
watch the highroad leading to Barnesdale, if per¬ 
chance they might find some haughty knight or 
fat priest whose wallet needed lightening. 

They had scarcely watched the great road 
known as Watling Street—which runs from 
Dover in Kent to Chester town—for many 
minutes, when they espied a knight riding by in 
a very forlorn and careless manner. 

All dreary was his semblance, 

And little was his pride; 

His one foot in the stirrup stood, 

His other waved beside. 

His visor hung down o’er his eyes, 

He rode in single array, 

A sorrier man than he was one 
Rode never in summer’s day. 

Little John came up to the knight and bade 
him stay; for who can judge of a man’s wealth 
bv his looks? The outlaw bent his knee in all 
courtesy, and prayed him to accept the hospi¬ 
tality of the forest. 

“My master expects you to dine with him, to¬ 
day,” quoth he, “and indeed has been fasting, 
while awaiting your coming, these three hours.” 

“Who is your master?” asked the knight. 

“None other than Robin Hood,” replied Little 
John, laying his hand upon the knight’s bridle. 


ROBIN AND SIR RICHARD 207 


Seeing the other two outlaws approaching, the 
knight shrugged his shoulders, and replied in¬ 
differently. 

“ ’Tis clear that your invitation is too urgent to 
admit of refusal,” quoth he, “and I do go with 
you right willingly, my friends. My purpose 
was to have dined to-day at Blyth or Doncaster; 
but nothing matters greatly.” 

So in the same lackadaisical fashion which had 
marked all his actions that day, the knight suf¬ 
fered his horse to be led to the rendezvous of 
the band in the greenwood. 

Marian had not yet had time to change her 
page’s attire, when the three escorts of the knight 
hove in sight. She recognized their captive as 
Sir Richard of the Lea, whom she had often seen 
at court; and fearing lest he might recognize her, 
she would have fled. But Robin asked her, with 
a twinkle, if she would not like to play page that 
day, and she in roguish mood consented to do so. 

“Welcome, Sir Knight,” said Robin, courte¬ 
ously. “You are come in good time, for we were 
just preparing to sit down to meat.” 

“God save and thank you, good master Robin,” 
returned the knight; “and all your company. It 
likes me well to break the fast with you.” 

So while his horse was cared for, the knight 
laid aside his own heavy gear, and laved his face 
and hands, and sat down with Robin and all his 


208 


ROBIN HOOD 


men to a most plentiful repast of venison, swans, 
pheasants, various small birds, cakes and ale. 
And Marian stood behind Robin and filled his 
cup and that of the guest. 

After eating right heartily of the good cheer, 
the knight brightened up greatly and vowed that 
he had not enjoyed so good a dinner for nigh 
three weeks. He also said that if ever Robin and 
his fellows should come to his domains, he would 
strive to set them down to as good a dinner on 
his own behalf. 

But this was not exactly the sort of payment 
which Robin had expected to receive. He 
thanked the knight, therefore, in set phrase, but 
reminded him that a yeoman like himself might 
hardly offer such a dinner to a knight as a gift 
of charity. 

“I have no money, Master Robin,” answered 
the knight frankly. “I have so little of the 
world’s goods, in sooth, that I should be ashamed 
to offer you the whole of it.” 

‘'Money, however little, always jingles merrily 
in our pockets,” said Robin, smiling. “Pray you 
tell me what you deem a little sum.” 

“I have of my own ten silver pennies,” said 
the knight. “Here they are and I wish they 
were ten times as many.” 

He handed Little John his pouch, and Robin 
nodded carelessly. 


ROBIN AND SIR RICHARD 209 


“What say you to the total, Little John?” he 
asked as though in jest. 

“ ’Tis true enough, as the worthy knight hath 
said,” responded the big fellow gravely emptying 
the contents on his cloak. 

Robin signed to Marian, who filled a bumper 
of wine for himself and his guest. 

“Pledge me, Sir Knight!” cried the merry out¬ 
law; “and pledge me heartily, for these sorry 
times. I see that your armor is bent and that 
your clothes are torn. Yet methinks I saw you 
at court, once upon a day, and in more prosper¬ 
ous guise. Tell me now, were you a yeoman 
and made a knight by force? Or, have you 
been a bad steward to yourself, and wasted your 
property in lawsuits and the like? Be not bash¬ 
ful with us. We shall not betray your secrets.” 

“I am a Saxon knight in my own right; and 
I have always lived a sober and quiet life,” the 
sorrowful guest replied. “ ’Tis true you have 
seen me at court, mayhap, for I was an ex¬ 
cited witness at your shooting before King 
Harry—God rest his bones! My name is Sir 
Richard of the Lea and I dwell in a castle, not a 
league from one of the gates of Nottingham, 
which has belonged to my father, and his father, 
and his father’s father before him. Within two 
or three years ago my neighbors might have told 
you that a matter of four hundred pounds one 


210 


ROBIN HOOD 


way or the other was as naught to me. But 
now I have only these ten pennies of silver, and 
my wife and son.” 

“In what manner have you lost your riches?” 
asked Robin. 

“Through folly and kindness,” said the knight, 
sighing. “I went with King Richard upon a 
crusade, from which I am but lately returned, in 
time to find my son—a goodly youth—grown 
up. He was but twenty, yet he had achieved a 
squire’s training and could play prettily in jousts 
and tournaments and other knightly games. 
But about this time he had the ill luck to push 
his sports too far, and did accidentally kill a 
knight in the open lists. To save the boy, I had 
to sell my lands and mortgage my ancestral 
castle; and this not being enough, in the end I 
have had to borrow money, at a ruinous interest, 
from my lord of Hereford.” 

“A most worthy Bishop,” said Robin iron¬ 
ically. “What is the sum of your debt?” 

“Four hundred pounds,” said Sir Richard, 
“and the Bishop swears he will foreclose the 
mortgage if they are not paid promptly.” 

“Have you any friends who would become 
surety for you?” 

“Not one. If good King Richard were here, 
the tale might be otherwise.” 

“Fill your goblet again, Sir Knight,” said 


ROBIN AND SIR RICHARD 211 


Robin; and he turned to whisper a word in 
Marian’s ear. She nodded and drew Little John 
and Will Scarlet aside and talked earnestly with 
them, in a low tone. 

“Here is health and prosperity to you, gallant 
Robin,” said Sir Richard, tilting his goblet. “I 
hope T may pay your cheer more worthily, the 
next time I ride by.” 

Will Scarlet and Little John had meanwhile 
fallen in with Marian’s idea, for they consulted 
the other outlaws, who nodded their heads. 
Thereupon Little John and Will Scarlet went 
into the cave near by and presently returned 
bearing a bag of gold. This they counted out 
before the astonished knight; and there were four 
times one hundred gold pieces in it. 

“Take this loan from us, Sir Knight, and pay 
your debt to the Bishop,” then said Robin. “Nay, 
no thanks; you are but exchanging creditors. 
Mayhap we shall not be so hard upon you as 
the Christian Bishop; yet, again we may be 
harder. Who can tell?” 

There were actual tears in Sir Richard’s eyes, 
as he essayed to thank the foresters. But at this 
juncture, Much, the miller’s son came from the 
cave dragging a bale of cloth. 

“The knight should have a suit worthy of his 
rank, master—think you not so?” 


212 


ROBIN HOOD 


“Measure him twenty good ells of it,” ordered 
Robin. 

“Give him a good horse, also,” whispered 
Marian. “ ’Tis a gift which will come back four¬ 
fold, for this is a worthy man. I know him well.” 

So the horse was given, also and Robin bade 
Arthur-a-Bland ride with the knight as far as 
his castle, as esquire. 

The knight was sorrowful no longer; yet he 
could scarcely voice his thanks through his broken 
utterance. And having spent the night in rest, 
after listening to Allan-a-Dale’s singing, he 
mounted his new steed the following morning an 
altogether different man. 

“God save you, comrades, and keep you all!” 
said he, with deep feeling in his tones; “and give 
me a grateful heart!” 

“We shall wait for you twelve months from to¬ 
day, here in this place,” said Robin, shaking him 
by the hand; “and then you will repay us the loan, 
if you have been prospered.” 

“I shall return it to you within the year, upon 
my honor as Sir Richard of the Lea. And for 
all time, pray count on me as a steadfast friend.” 

So saying the knight and his esquire rode 
down the forest glade till they were lost to view. 


CHAPTER XVII 


HOW THE BISHOP WAS DINED 

“O what is the matter?” then said the Bishop, 

“Or for whom do you make this a-do? 

Or why do you kill the King’s venison, 

When your company is so few?” 

“We are shepherds,” quoth bold Robin Hood, 

“And we keep sheep all the year. 

And we are disposed to be merrie this day. 

And to kill the King’s fat deer.” 

N OT many days after Sir Richard of the 
Lea came to Sherwood Forest, word 
reached Robin Hood’s ears that my lord 
Bishop of Hereford would be riding that way 
betimes on that morning. ’Twas Arthur-a- 
Bland, the knight’s quondam esquire, who 
brought the tidings, and Robin’s face brightened 
as he heard it. 

“Now, by our Lady!” quoth he, “I have long 
desired to entertain my lord in the greenwood, 
and this is too fair a chance to let slip. Come, my 
men, kill me a venison; kill me a good fat deer. 
The Bishop of Hereford is to dine with me to¬ 
day, and he shall pay well for his cheer.” 

“Shall we dress it here, as usual?” asked Much, 
the miller’s son. 


( 213 ) 


214 


ROBIN HOOD 


“Nay, we will play a droll game on the church¬ 
man. We will dress it by the highway side, and 
watch for the Bishop narrowly, lest he should 
ride some other way.” 

So Robin gave his orders, and the main body 
of his men dispersed to different parts of the 
forest, under Will Stutely and Little John, to 
watch other roads; while Robin Hood himself 
took six of his men, including Will Scarlet, and 
Much, and posted himself in full view of the 
main road. This little company appeared funny 
enough, I assure you, for they had disguised 
themselves as shepherds. Robin had an old w^ool 
cap, with a tail to it, hanging over his ear, and 
a shock of hair stood straight up through a hole 
in the top. Besides there was so much dirt on 
his face that you would never have known him. 
An old tattered cloak over his hunter’s garb 
completed his make-up. The others were no 
less ragged and unkempt, even the foppish Will 
Scarlet being so badly run down at the heel that 
the court ladies would hardly have had speech 
with him. 

They quickly provided themselves with a deer 
and made great preparations to cook it over a 
small fire, when a little dust was seen blowing 
along the highway, and out of it came the portly 
Bishop cantering along on a white nag with ten 
men-at-arms at his heels. As soon as he saw the 


THE BISHOP DINED 


215 


fancied shepherds he spurred up his horse, and 
came straight toward them. 

‘‘Who are ye, fellows, who make so free with 
the King’s deer?” he asked sharply. 

‘‘We are shepherds,” answered Bobin Hood, 
pulling at his forelock awkwardly. 

“Heaven have mercy! Ye seem a sorry lot 
of shepherds. But who gave you leave to cease 
eating mutton?” 

“ ’Tis one of our feast days, lording, and we 
were disposed to be merry this day, and make free 
with a deer, out here where they be so many.” 

“By my faith, the King shall hear of this. 
Who killed yon beast?” 

“Give me first your name, excellence, so that 
I may speak where ’tis fitting,” replied Robin 
stubbornly. 

“ ’Tis my lord Bishop of Hereford, fellow!” 
interposed one of the guards fiercely. “See that 
you keep a civil tongue in your head.” 

“If ’tis a churchman,” retorted Will Scarlet, 
“he would do better to mind his own flocks rather 
than concern himself with ours.” 

“Ye are saucy fellows, in sooth,” cried the 
Bishop, “and we will see if your heads will pay 
for your manners. Come! quit your stolen 
roast and march along with me, for you shall be 
brought before the Sheriff of Nottingham forth¬ 
with.” 


216 


ROBIN HOOD 


“Pardon, excellence!” said Robin, dropping 
on his knees. “Pardon, I pray you. It be¬ 
comes not your lordship’s coat to take so many 
lives away.” 

“Faith, I’ll pardon you!” said the Bishop. 
“I’ll pardon you, when I see you hanged! Seize 
upon them, my men!” 

His bodyguard lost no time in striving to put 
this curt order into effect. 

But Robin had already sprung away with his 
back against a tree. And from underneath his 
ragged cloak he drew his trusty horn and winded 
the piercing notes which were wont to summon 
the band. 

The Bishop no sooner saw this action than he 
knew his man, and that there was a trap set; and 
being an arrant coward, he wheeled his horse 
sharply and would have made off down the road; 
but his own men, spurred on the charge, blocked 
his way. At almost the same instant the bushes 
round about seemed literally to become alive 
with outlaws. Little John’s men came from one 
side and Will Stutely’s from the other. In less 
time than it takes to tell it, the worthy Bishop 
was taken off his white nag and found himself 
a prisoner. At first he stormed and blustered; 
then almost in the same breath he began to crave 
mercy from the men he had so lately been ready 
to sentence. 



THE WORTHY BISHOP FOUND HIMSELF A PRISONER. 






THE BISHOP DINED 


217 


“0 pardon, O pardon,” said the Bishop, 

“O pardon I you pray. 

For if I had known it had been you, 

I’d have gone some other way.” 

“I owe you no pardon,” retorted Robin, “but 
I will e’en treat you better than you would have 
treated me. Come, make haste, and go along 
with me. I have already planned that you shall 
dine with me this day.” 

So the unwilling prelate was dragged away, 
cheek by jowl, with the half-cooked venison upon 
the back of his own horse; and Robin and his 
band took charge of the whole company and led 
them through the forest glades till they came to 
an open space near Barnesdale. 

Here they rested, and Robin gave the Bishop 
a seat full courteously. Much the miller’s son 
fell to roasting the deer afresh, while another and 
fatter beast was set to frizzle on the other side of 
the fire. Presently the appetizing odor of the 
cooking reached the Bishop’s nostrils, and he 
sniffed it eagerly. The morning’s ride had made 
him hungry; and he was nothing loath when 
they bade him come to dinner. Robin gave him 
the best place beside himself, and the Bishop 
prepared to fall to. 

“Nay, my lord, craving your pardon, but we 
are accustomed to have grace before meat,” said 
Robin decorously. “And as our own chaplain 


218 


ROBIN HOOD 


is not with us to-day, will you be good enough 
to say it for us?” 

The Bishop reddened, but pronounced grace in 
the Latin tongue hastily, and then settled him¬ 
self to make the best of his lot. Red wines and 
ale were brought forth and poured out, each man 
having a horn tankard from which to drink. 

Laughter bubbled among the diners, and the 
Bishop caught himself smiling at more than one 
jest. But who, in sooth, could resist a freshly 
broiled venison steak eaten out in the open air to 
the tune of jest and good fellowship? Stutely 
filled the Bishop’s beaker with wine each time he 
emptied it, and the Bishop got mellower and 
mellower as the afternoon shades lengthened on 
toward sunset. Then the approaching dusk 
warned him of his position. 

“I wish, mine host,” quoth he gravely to 
Robin, who had soberly drunk but one cup of 
ale, “that you would now call a reckoning. ’Tis 
late, and I fear the cost of this entertainment 
may be more than my poor purse can stand.” 

For he bethought himself of his friend, the 
Sheriff’s former experience. 

“Verily, your lordship,” said Robin, scratch¬ 
ing his head, “I have enjoyed your company 
so much, that I scarce know how to charge for 
it.” 

“Lend me your purse, my lord,” said Little 


THE BISHOP DINED 


219 


John, interposing, “and I’ll give you the reckon¬ 
ing by and by.” 

The Bishop shuddered. He had collected Sir 
Richard’s debt only that morning, and was even 
then carrying it home. 

“I v have but a few silver pennies of my own,” 
he whined; “and as for the gold in my saddle¬ 
bags, ’tis for the church. Ye surely would not 
levy upon the church, my good friends.” 

But Little John was already gone to the sad¬ 
dle-bags, and returning he laid the Bishop’s cloak 
upon the ground, and poured out of the port¬ 
manteau a matter of four hundred glittering gold 
pieces. ’Twas the identical money which Robin 
had lent Sir Richard a short while before! 

“Ah!” said Robin, as though an idea had but 
just then come to him. “The church is always 
willing to aid in charity. And seeing this goodly 
sum reminds me that I have a friend who is in¬ 
debted to a churchman for this exact amount. 
Now we shall charge you nothing on our own 
account; but suffer us to make use of this in aid¬ 
ing my good friend.” 

“Nay, nay,” began the Bishop with a wry face, 
“this is requiting me ill indeed. Was this not 
the King’s meat, after all, that we feasted upon? 
Furthermore, I am a poor man.” 

“Poor forsooth!” answered Robin in scorn. 
“You are the Bishop of Hereford, and does not 


220 


ROBIN HOOD 


the whole countryside speak of your oppression? 
Who does not know of your cruelty to the poor 
and ignorant—you who should use your great 
office to aid them, instead of oppress? Have 
you not been guilty of far greater robbery than 
this, even though less open? Of myself, and 
how you have pursued me, I say nothing; nor 
of your unjust enmity against my father. But 
on account of those you have despoiled and op¬ 
pressed, I take this money, and will use it far 
more worthily than you would. God be my wit¬ 
ness in this! There is an end of the matter, un¬ 
less you will lead us in a song or dance to show 
that your body has a better spirit than your 
mind. Come, strike up the harp, Allan!” 

“Neither the one nor the other will I do,” 
snarled the Bishop. 

“Faith, then we must help you,” said Little 
John; and he and Arthur-a-Bland seized the fat, 
struggling churchman and commenced to hop 
up and down. The Bishop being shorter must 
perforce accompany them in their gyrations; 
while the whole company sat and rolled about 
over the ground, and roared to see my lord of 
Hereford’s queer capers. At last he sank in a 
heap, fuddled with wine and quite exhausted. 

Little John picked him up as though he were 
a log of wood and carrying him to his horse, set 
him astride facing the animal’s tail; and thus 


THE BISHOP DINED 


221 


fastened him, leading the animal toward the high¬ 
road and, starting the Bishop, more dead than 
alive, toward Nottingham. 

The churchman, howbeit, was so glad to es¬ 
cape the clutches of these merry men of the 
foresf, that he cared little how he fared forth. 

Twas a picture which made strange contrast to 
the bold prelate who rode up in the morning. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


HOW THE BISHOP WENT OUTLAW¬ 
HUNTING 

The Bishop he came to the old woman’s house. 
And called with furious mood, 

“Come let me soon see, and bring unto me 
That traitor, Robin Hood.” 

T HE easy success with which they had got 
the better of the good Bishop led Robin to 
grow a little careless. He thought that his 
guest was too great a coward to venture back 
into the greenwood for many a long day; and 
so after lying quiet for one day, the outlaw ven¬ 
tured boldly upon the highway, the morning of 
the second. But he had gone only half a mile 
when, turning a sharp bend in the road, he 
plunged full upon the prelate himself. 

My lord of Hereford had been so deeply smit¬ 
ten in his pride, that he had lost no time in sum¬ 
moning a considerable body of the Sheriff’s men, 
offering to double the reward if Robin Hood 
could be come upon. This company was now at 
his heels, and after the first shock of mutual sur¬ 
prise, the Bishop gave an exultant shout and 
spurred upon the outlaw. 

It was too late for Robin to retreat by the way 

( 222 ) 


AN OUTLAW HUNT 


223 


he had come, but quick as a flash he sprang to 
one side of the road, dodged under some bushes, 
and disappeared so suddenly that his pursuers 
thought he had truly been swallowed up by 
magic. 

“After him!” yelled the Bishop; “some of you 
beat up the woods around him, while the rest 
of us will keep on the main road and head him 
off on the other side!” 

For, truth to tell, the Bishop did not care to 
trust his bones away from the highroad. 

About a mile away, on the other side of this 
neck of woods, wherein Robin had been trapped, 
was a little tumbledown cottage. ’Twas where 
the widow lived, whose three sons had been res¬ 
cued. Robin remembered the cottage and saw 
his one chance to escape. 

Doubling in and out among the underbush and 
heather with the agility of a hare, he soon came 
out of the wood in the rear of the cottage, and 
thrust his head through a tiny window. 

The widow, who had been at her spinning- 
wheel, rose up with a cry of alarm. 

“Quiet, good mother! ’Tis I, Robin Hood. 
Where are your three sons?” 

“They should be with you, Robin. Well do 
you know that. Do they not owe their lives to 

off 

you 5 

“If that be so, I come to seek payment of the 


224 


ROBIN HOOD 


debt,” said Robin in a breath. “The Bishop is 
on my heels with many of his men.” 

“I’ll cheat the Bishop and all!” cried the 
woman quickly. “Here, Robin, change your rai¬ 
ment with me, and we will see if my lord knows 
an old woman when he sees her.” 

“Good!” said Robin. “Pass your gray cloak 
out the window, and also your spindle and twine; 
and I will give you my green mantle and every¬ 
thing else down to my bow and arrows.” 

While they had been talking, Robin had been 
nimbly changing clothes with the old woman, 
through the window, and in a jiffy he stood forth 
complete, even to the spindle and twine. 

Presently up dashed the Bishop and his men, 
and, at sight of the cottage and the old woman, 
gave pause. 

“Now by all the saints”—began the Bishop— 
“we shall see if the rascally outlaw escapes our 
clutches this time.” 

The crone was hobbling along with difficulty, 
leaning heavily upon a gnarled stick and bear¬ 
ing the spindle on her other arm. She would 
have gone by the Bishop’s company, while mut¬ 
tering to herself, but the Bishop ordered one of 
his men to question her. The soldier laid his 
hand upon her shoulder. 

“Mind your business!” croaked the woman, 
“or I’ll curse ye!” 


AN OUTLAW HUNT 


225 


“Come, come, my good woman,” said the sol¬ 
dier, who really was afraid of her curses. “I’ll 
not molest you. But my lord Bishop of Here¬ 
ford wants to know if you have seen aught of the 
outlaw, Robin Hood?” 

“And why shouldn’t I see him?” she whined. 
“Where’s the King or law to prevent good Robin 
from coming to see me and bring me food and 
raiment? That’s more than my lord Bishop will 
do, I warrant ye!” 

“Peace, woman!” said the Bishop harshly. 
“We want none of your opinions. But we’ll take 
you to Barnesdale and burn you for a witch 
if you do not instantly tell us when you last saw 
Robin Hood.” 

“Mercy, good my lord!” chattered the crone, 
falling on her knees. “Robin is there in my cot¬ 
tage now, but you’ll never take him alive.” 

“We’ll see about that,” cried the Bishop tri¬ 
umphantly. “Enter the cottage, my men. Fire 
it, if need be. But I’ll give a purse of gold 
pieces, above the reward, to the man who cap¬ 
tures the outlaw alive.” 

The old woman, being released, went on her 
way slowly. But it might have been noticed 
that the farther she got away from the company 
and the nearer to the edge of the woods, the 
swifter and straighter grew her pace. Once in- 


226 


ROBIN HOOD 


side the shelter of the forest she broke into a run 
of surprising swiftness. 

“Gadzooks!” exclaimed Little John who pres¬ 
ently spied her. “Who comes here? Never saw 
I witch or woman run so fast. Methinks I’ll 
send an arrow close over her head to see which 

it IS. 

“O hold your hand! hold your hand!” panted 
the supposed woman. “ Tis I, Robin Hood. 
Summon the yeomen and return with me speed¬ 
ily. We have still another score to settle with 
my lord of Hereford.” 

When Little^John could catch his breath from 
laughing, he winded his horn. 

“Now, mistress Robin,” quoth he, grinning. 
“Lead on! We’ll be close to your heels.” 

Meanwhile, back at the widow’s cottage the 
Bishop was growing more furious every moment. 
For all his bold words, he dared not fire the 
house, and the sturdy door had thus far resisted 
all his men’s efforts. 

“Break it down! Break it down!” he shouted, 
“and let me soon see who will fetch out that 
traitor, Robin Hood!” 

At last the door crashed in and the men stood 
guard at the threshold. But not one dared en¬ 
ter for fear a sharp arrow should meet him half¬ 
way. 

“Here he is!” cried one keen-eyed fellow, 


“NOW BY ALL THE SAINTS’’-BEGAN THE BISHOP. 





































































































AN OUTLAW HUNT 


227 


peering in. “I see him in the corner by the cup¬ 
board. Shall we slay him with our pikes?” 

“Nay,” said the Bishop, “take him alive if you 
can. We’ll make the biggest public hanging of 
this that the shire ever beheld.” 

But'the joy of the Bishop over his capture was 
short lived. Down the road came striding the 
shabby figure of the old woman who had helped 
him set the trap; and very wrathy was she when 
she saw that the cottage door had been battered 
in sunder. 

“Stand by, you lazy rascals!” she called to the 
soldiers. “May all the devils catch ye for hurt¬ 
ing an old woman’s hut. Stand by, I say!” 

“Hold your tongue!” ordered the Bishop. 
“These are my men and carrying out my 
orders.” 

“God-a-mercy!” swore the beldame harshly. 
“Things have come to a pretty pass when our 
homes may be treated like common gaols. 
Couldn’t all your men catch one poor forester 
without this ado? Come! clear out, you and 
your robbers, on the instant, or I’ll curse every 
mother’s son of ye, eating and drinking and 
sleeping!” 

“Seize on the hag!” shouted the Bishop, as 
soon as he could get in a word. “We’ll see about 
a witch’s cursing. Back to town she shall go, 
alongside of Robin Hood.” 


228 


ROBIN HOOD 


“Not so fast, your worship!” she retorted, 
clapping her hands. 

And at the signal a goodly array of greenwood 
men sprang forth from all sides of the cottage, 
with bows drawn back threateningly. The 
Bishop saw that his men were trapped again, for 
they dared not stir. Nathless, he determined to 
make a fight for it. 

“If one of you but budge an inch toward me, 
you rascals,” he cried, “it shall sound the death 
of your master, Robin Hood! My men have 
him here under their pikes, and I shall command 
them to kill him without mercy.” 

“Faith, I should like to see the Robin you have 
caught,” said a clear voice from under the wid¬ 
ow’s cape; and the outlaw chief stood forth with 
bared head smilingly. “Here am I, my lord, in 
no wise imperilled by your men’s fierce pikes. So 
let us see whom you have been guarding so 
well.” 

The old woman who, in the garb of Robin 
Hood, had been lying quiet in the cottage 
through all the uproar, jumped up nimbly at 
this. In the bald absurdity of her disguise she 
came to the doorway and bowed to the Bishop. 

“Give you good-den, my lord Bishop,” she 
piped in a shrill voice; “and what does your 
Grace at my humble door? Do you come to 
bless me and give me alms?” 


AN OUTLAW HUNT 


229 


“Aye, that does he,” answered Robin. “We 
shall see if his saddle-bags contain enough to pay 
you for that battered door.” 

“Now by all the saints-” began the Bishop. 

“Take care; they are all watching you,” inter¬ 
rupted Robin; “so name them not upon your 
unchurchly lips. But I will trouble you to hand 
over that purse of gold you had saved to pay for 
my head.” 

“I’ll see you hanged first!” raged the Bishop, 
stating no more than what would have been so, 
if he could have had the ordering of things. 
“Have at them, my men, and hew them down in 
their tracks!” 

“Hold!” retorted Robin. “See how we have 
you at our mercy.” And aiming a sudden shaft 
he shot so close to the Bishop’s head that it car¬ 
ried away both his hat and the skull-cap which 
he always wore, leaving him quite bald. 

The prelate turned as white as his shiny head 
and clutched wildly at his ears. He thought 
himself dead almost. 

“Help! murder!” he gasped. “Do not shoot 
again! What do ye want with me?” 

“That will we decide in solemn council in 
the forest hard by,” said Robin grimly. “Come, 
my merry men!” 

The outlaws nothing loath, and seeing sport 
ahead, closed in around the unwilling Bishop 



230 


ROBIN HOOD 


and his men. The latter were quickly disarmed; 
and the whole party proceeded to an open glade 
in the wood. Here Robin seated himself upon 
the gnarled root of an oak tree, and bade the 
Bishop stand before him. 

“My lord Bishop,” he said. “Meseems that 
one visit from you does not satisfy. You repay 
your calls all too promptly. Now what little 
gift have you for us before you go on your way?” 

While the Bishop pondered over his next 
words, as well he might, Will Stutely came for¬ 
ward grinning broadly. 

“Master,” he said, “here’s a merry game. We 
laid hold of an old Jew’s money-bags this very 
day, who swears by all the patriarchs that his 
bags are empty. The Bishop, he says levied un¬ 
just tribute upon him.” 

“Bring him forward,” said Robin; and up 
came, the Jew, a bent old man, cringing and 
whining. 

“Mercy, good sirs!” he quavered. “ ’Tis as 
this good yeoman has told you. My purse was 
seized by the Bishop’s men.” 

“What would you give to have it restored to 
you?” asked Robin. 

“The half of it willingly,“ said the Jew. 

“How much was in your bag?” 

“A full hundred pounds of gold.” 

“Then my lord Bishop,” said Robin, “you can 



AH ! ” SAID ROBIN, “THE CHURCH IS ALWAYS WILLING TO AID IN CHARITY 




















































AN OUTLAW HUNT 


231 


pay back to the Jew his hundred pounds and to 
us another hundred pounds for all the trouble 
you have caused this day.” 

“ ’Tis more than I have by me,” mumbled the 
Bishop. 

“Ah,” said Robin, “the church is always willing 
to aid in charity. Give this Jew a written order 
for the sum required, or your debt to us will be 
doubled.” 

And, to make a long story short, that is just 
what the worthy Bishop did. 


CHAPTER XIX 


HOW THE SHERIFF HELD 
ANOTHER SHOOTING 
MATCH 


“To tell the truth, I’m well informed 
Yon match it is a wile; 

The Sheriff, I wis, devises this 
Us archers to beguile.” 

N OW the Sheriff was so greatly troubled 
in heart over the growing power of Robin 
Hood, that he did a very foolish thing. 
He went to London town to lay his troubles 
before the King and get another force of troops 
to cope with the outlaws. King Richard was 
not yet returned from the Holy Land, but 
Prince John heard him with scorn. 

“Pooh!” said he, shrugging his shoulders. 
“What have I to do with all this? Art thou not 
sheriff for me? The law is in force to take thy 
course of them that injure thee. Go, get thee 
gone, and by thyself devise some tricking game 
to trap these rebels; and never let me see thy 
face at court again until thou hast a better tale to 
tell.” 

So away went the Sheriff in sorrier pass than 

( 232 ) 


THE SHOOTING MATCH 233 


ever, and cudgeled his brain, on the way home, 
for some plan of action. 

His daughter met him on his return and saw at 
once that he had been on a poor mission. She 
was minded to upbraid him when she learned 
what he had told the Prince. But the words of 
the latter started her to thinking afresh. 

“I have it!” she exclaimed at length. “Why 
should we not hold another shooting-match? 
’Tis Fair year, as you know, and another tourney 
will be expected. Now we will proclaim a gen¬ 
eral amnesty, as did King Harry himself, and say 
that the field is open and unmolested to all 
comers. Belike Robin Hood’s men will be 
tempted to twang the bow, and then-” 

“And then,” said the Sheriff jumping up with 
alacrity, “we will see on which side of the gate 
they stop over-night!” 

So the Sheriff lost no time in proclaiming a 
tourney, to be held that same fall at the Fair. 
It was open to all comers, said the proclamation, 
and none should be molested in their going and 
coming. Furthermore, an arrow with a golden 
head and shaft of silver-white should be given to 
the winner, who would be heralded abroad as the 
finest archer in all the North Countree. Also, 
many rich prizes were to be given to other clever 
archers. 

These tidings came in due course to Robin 



234 


ROBIN HOOD 


Hood, under the greenwood tree, and fired his 
impetuous spirit. 

t 

“Come, prepare ye, my merry men all,” quoth 
he, “and we’ll go to the Fair and take some part 
in this sport.” 

With that stepped forth the merry cobbler, 
David of Doncaster. 

“Master” quoth he, “be ruled by me and stir 
not from the greenwood. To tell the truth, I’m 
well informed yon match is naught but a trap. I 
wis the Sheriff has devised it to beguile us 
archers into some treachery.” 

“That word savors of the coward,” replied 
Robin, “and pleases me not. Let come what 
will, I’ll try my skill at that same archery.” 

Then up spoke Little John and said: “Come, 
listen to me how it shall be that we will not be 
discovered. 

“Our mantles all of Lincoln-green 
Behind us we will leave; 

We’ll dress us all so several. 

They shall not us perceive. 

“One shall wear white, another red. 

One yellow, another blue; 

Thus in disguise to the exercise 
We’ll go, whate’er ensue.” 

This advice met with general favor from the 
adventurous fellows, and they lost no time in put¬ 
ting it into practice. Maid Marian and Mistress 


THE SHOOTING MATCH 235 


Dale, assisted by Friar Tuck, prepared some 
vari-colored costumes, and gainst the Fair day 
had fitted out the sevenscore men till you would 
never have taken them for other than villagers 
decked for the holiday. 

And forth went they from the greenwood, 
with hearts all firm and stout, resolved to meet 
the Sheriff’s men and have a merry bout. Along 
the highway they fell in with many other bold 
fellows from the countryside, going with their 
ruddy-cheeked lasses toward the wide-open gates 
of Nottingham. 

So in through the gates trooped the whole gay 
company, Robin’s men behaving as awkwardly 
and laughing and talking as noisily as the rest; 
while the Sheriff’s scowling men-at-arms stood 
round about and sought to find one who looked 
like a forester, but without avail. 

The herald now set forth the terms of the con¬ 
test, as on former occasions, and the shooting 
presently began. Robin had chosen five of his 
men to shoot with him, and the rest were to 
mingle with the crowd and also watch the gates. 
These five were Little John, Will Scarlet, Will 
Stutely, Much, and Allan-a-Dale. 

The other competitors made a brave showing 
on the first round, especially Gilbert of the 
White Hand, who was present and never shot 
better. The contest later narrowed down be- 


236 


ROBIN HOOD 


tween Gilbert and Robin. But at the first lead, 
when the butts were struck so truly by various 
well-known archers, the Sheriff was in doubt 
whether to feel glad or sorry. He was glad to 
see such skill, but sorry that the outlaws were 
not in it. 

Some said, “If Robin Hood were here, 

And all his men to boot, 

Sure none of them could pass these men, 

So bravely do they shoot.” 

“Aye,” quoth the Sheriff, and scratched his head, 

“I thought he would be here; 

I thought he would, but tho’ he’s bold, 

He durst not now appear.” 

This word was privately brought to Robin by 
David of Doncaster, and the saying vexed him 
sorely. But he bit his lip in silence. 

“Ere long,” he thought to himself, “we shall 
see whether Robin Hood be here or not!” 

Meantime the shooting had been going for¬ 
ward, and Robin’s men had done so well that the 
air was filled with shouts. 

One cried, “Blue jacket!” another cried, “Brown!” 
And a third cried, “Brave Yellew!” 

But the fourth man said, “Yon man in red 
In his place has no fellow.” 

For that was Robin Hood himself, 

For he was clothed in red; 

At every shot the prize he got. 

For he was hoth sure and dead. 


THE SHOOTING MATCH 237 


Thus went the second round of the shooting, 
and thus the third and last, till even Gilbert of 
the White Hand was fairly beaten. During all 
this shooting, Robin exchanged no word with his 
men, each treating the other as a perfect stranger. 
Nathl£ss, such great shooting could not pass 
without revealing the archers. 

The Sheriff thought he discovered, in the win¬ 
ner of the golden arrow, the person of Robin 
Hood without peradventure. So he sent word 
privately for his men-at-arms to close round the 
group. But Robin’s men also got wind of the 
plan. 

To keep up appearances, the Sheriff sum¬ 
moned the crowd to form in a circle; and after as 
much delay as possible the arrow was presented. 
The delay gave time enough for the soldiers to 
close in. As Robin received his prize, bowed 
awkwardly and turned away, the Sheriff, letting 
his zeal get the better of his discretion, grasped 
him about the neck and called upon his men to 
arrest the traitor. 

But the moment the Sheriff touched Robin, he 
received such a buffet on the side of his head 
that he let go instantly and fell back several 
paces. Turning to see who had struck him, he 
recognized Little John. 

“Ah, rascal Greenleaf, I have you now!” he 


238 


ROBIN HOOD 


exclaimed springing at him. Just then, however, 
he met a new check. 

“This is from another of your devoted serv¬ 
ants!” said a voice which he knew to be that of 
Much the miller’s son; and “Thwack!” went his 
open palm upon the Sheriff’s cheek sending that 
worthy rolling over and over upon the ground. 

By this time the conflict had become general, 
but the Sheriff’s men suffered the disadvantage 
of being hampered by the crowd of innocent on¬ 
lookers, whom they could not tell from the out¬ 
laws and so dared not attack; while the other 
outlaws in the rear fell upon them and put them 
in confusion. 

For a moment a fierce rain of blows ensued; 
then the clear bugle-note from Robin ordered a 
retreat. The two warders at the nearest gate 
tried to close it, but were shot dead in their 
tracks. David of Doncaster threw a third soldier 
into the moat; and out through the gate went 
the foresters in good order, keeping a respectful 
distance between themselves and the advancing 
soldiery, by means of their well-directed shafts. 

But the fight was not to go easily this day, for 
the soldiery, smarting from their recent discom¬ 
fiture at the widow’s cottage, and knowing that 
the eyes of the whole shire were upon them, 
fought well, and pressed closely after the retreat¬ 
ing outlaws. More than one ugly wound was 


THE SHOOTING MATCH 239 


given and received. No less than five of the 
Sheriff’s men were killed outright, and a dozen 
others injured; while four of Robin’s men were 
bleeding from severe flesh cuts. 

Then Little John, who had fought by the side 
of his ^chief, suddenly fell forward with a slight 
moan. An arrow had pierced his knee. Robin 
seized the big fellow with almost superhuman 
strength. 


Up he took him on his back. 

And bare him well a mile; 
Many a time he laid him down, 
And shot another while. 


Meanwhile Little John grew weaker and 
closed his eyes; at last he sank to the ground, and 
feebly motioned Robin to let him lie. 

“Master Robin,” said he, “have I not served 
you well, ever since we met upon the bridge?” 

“Truer servant never man had,” answered 
Robin. 

“Then if ever you loved me, and for the sake 
of that service, draw your bright brown sword 
and strike off my head; never let me fall alive 
into the hand of the Sheriff of Nottingham.” 

“Not for all the gold in England would I do 
either of the things you suggest.” 

“God forbid!” cried Arthur-a-Bland, hurrying 
to the rescue. And packing his wounded kins- 


240 


ROBIN HOOD 


man upon his own broad shoulders, he soon 
brought him within the shelter of the forest. 

Once there, the Sheriff’s men dared not follow; 
and Robin caused litters of boughs to be made 
for Little John and the other four wounded men. 
Quickly were they carried through the wood un¬ 
til the hermitage of Friar Tuck was reached, 
where their wounds were dressed. Little John’s 
hurt was pronounced to be the most serious of 
any, but he was assured that in two or three 
week’s time he could get about again; whereat 
the active giant groaned mightily. 

That evening consternation came upon the 
hearts of the band. A careful roll-call was taken 
to see if all the yeomen had escaped, when it 
was found that Will Stutely was missing, and 
Maid Marian also was nowhere to be found. 
Robin was seized with dread. He knew that 
Marian had gone to the Fair, but felt that she 
would hardly come to grief. Her absence, how¬ 
ever, portended some danger, and he feared that 
it was connected with Will Stutely. The Sheriff 
would hang him speedily and without mercy, if 
he were captured. 

The rest of the band shared their leader’s un¬ 
easiness, though they said no word. They knew 
that if Will were captured, the battle must be 
fought over again the next day, and Will must 


THE SHOOTING MATCH 241 


be saved at any cost. But no man flinched from 
the prospect. 

That evening, while the Sheriff and his wife 
and daughter sat at meat in the Mansion House, 
the Sheriff boasted of how he would make an 
example of the captured outlaw; for Stutely had 
indeed fallen into his hands. 

“He shall be strung high,” he said, in a loud 
voice; “and none shall dare lift a finger. I now 
have Bobin Hood’s men on the run, and we 
shall soon see who is master in this shire. I am 
only sorry that we let them have the golden 
arrow.” 

As he spoke a missive sped through a win¬ 
dow and fell clattering upon his plate, causing 
him to spring back in alarm. 

It was the golden arrow, and on its feathered 
shaft was sewed a little note which read: 

“This is from one who will take no gifts from 
liars; and who henceforth will show no mercy. 
Look well to yourself. R.H.” 


CHAPTER XX 


HOW WILL STUTELY WAS 
RESCUED 

Forth of the greenwood are they gone, 

Yea, all courageously. 

Resolving to bring Stutely home, 

Or every man to die. 

T HE next day dawned bright and sunny. 
The whole face of nature seemed gay as 
in despite of the tragedy which was 
soon to take place in the walls of Nottingham 
town. The gates were not opened upon this 
day, for the Sheriff was determined to carry 
through the hanging of Will Stutely undis¬ 
turbed. No man, therefore, was to be allowed 
entrance from without, all that morning and un¬ 
til after the fatal hour of noon, when Will’s soul 
was to be launched into eternity. 

Early in the day Robin had drawn his men to 
a point, as near as he dared, in the woods where 
he could watch the road leading to the East gate. 
He himself was clad in a bright scarlet dress, 
while his men, a goodly array, wore their suits of 
sober Lincoln green. They were armed with 
broadswords, and each man carried his bow and 
a full quiver of new arrows, straightened and 

( 242 ) 


WILL STUTELY’S RESCUE 243 


sharpened cunningly by Middle, the tinker. 
Over their greenwood dress, each man had 
thrown a rough mantle, making him look not un¬ 
like a friar. 

“I hold it good, comrades,” then said Robin 
Hood, 4 ‘to tarry here in hiding for a season while 
we send some one forth to obtain tidings. For, 
in sooth, ’twill work no good to march upon the 
gates if they be closed.” 

“Look, master,” quoth one of the widow’s sons, 
“There comes a palmer along the road from the 
town. Relike he can tell us how the land lies, 
and if Stutely be really in jeopardy. Shall I go 
out and engage him in speech?” 

“Go,” answered Robin. 

So Stout Will went out from the band while 
the others hid themselves and waited. When he 
had come close to the palmer, who seemed a 
slight, youngish man, he doffed his hat full 
courteously and said, 

“I crave your pardon, holy man, but can you 
tell me tidings of Nottingham town? Do they 
intend to put an outlaw to death this day?” 

“Yea,” answered the palmer sadly. “ ’Tis true 
enough, sorry be the day. I have passed the 
very spot where the gallows-tree is going up. 
’Tis out upon the roadway near the Sheriff’s cas¬ 
tle. One, Will Stutely, is to be hung thereon at 


244 


ROBIN HOOD 


noon, and I could not bear the sight, so came 
away.” 

The palmer spoke in a muffled voice; and as 
his hood was pulled well over his head, Stout 
Will could not discern what manner of man he 
was. Over his shoulder he carried a long staff, 
with the fashion of a little cross at one end; and 
he had sandaled feet like any monk. Stout Will 
noticed idly that the feet were very small and 
white, but gave no second thought to the matter. 

“Who will shrive the poor wretch, if you 
have come away from him?” he asked, reproach¬ 
fully. 

The question seemed to put a new idea into 
the palmer’s head. He turned so quickly that he 
almost dropped his hood. 

“Do you think that I should undertake this 
holy office?” 

“By Saint Peter and the Blessed Virgin, I do 
indeed! Else, who will do it? The Bishop and 
all his whining clerks may be there, but not one 
would say a prayer for his soul.” 

“But I am only a poor palmer,” the other be¬ 
gan hesitatingly. 

“Nathless. your prayers are as good as any 
and better than some,” replied Will. 

“Right gladly would I go,” then said the 
palmer; “but I fear me I cannot get into the 
city. You may know that the gates are fast 


WILL STUTELY’S RESCUE 245 


locked, for this morning, for all who would come 
in, although they let any pass out who will.” 

“Come with me,” said Stout Will, “and my 
master will see that you pass through the gates.” 

So the palmer pulled his cloak still closer 
about him and was brought before Robin Hood, 
to whom he told all he knew of the situation. 
He ended with, 

“If I may make so bold, I would not try to 
enter the city from this gate, as ’tis closely 
guarded since yesterday. But on the far side, no 
attack is looked for.” 

“My thanks, gentle palmer,” quoth Robin, 
“your suggestion is good, and we will deploy to 
the gate upon the far side.” 

So the men marched silently but quickly until 
they were near to the western gate. Then 
Arthur-a-Bland asked leave to go ahead as a 
scout, and quietly made his way to a point under 
the tower by the gate. The moat was dry on 
this side, as these were times of peace, and Arthur 
was further favored by a stout ivy vine which 
grew out from an upper window. 

Swinging himself up boldly by means of this 
friendly vine, he crept through the window and 
in a moment more had sprung upon the warder 
from behind and gripped him hard about the 
throat. The warder had no chance to utter the 
slightest sound, and soon lay bound and gagged 


246 


ROBIN HOOD 


upon the floor, while Arthur-a-Bland slipped 
himself into his uniform and got hold of his 
keys. 

’Twas the work of but a few moments more to 
open the gates, let down the bridge, and admit 
the rest of the band; and they got inside the 
town so quietly that none knew of their coming. 
Fortune also favored them in the fact that just at 
this moment the prison doors had been opened 
for the march of the condemned man, and every 
soldier and idle lout in the market-place had 
trooped thither to see him pass along. 

Presently out came Will Stutely with firm step 
but dejected air. He looked eagerly to the right 
hand and to the left, but saw none of the band. 
And though more than one curious face betrayed 
friendship in it, he knew there could be no aid 
from such source. 

Will’s hands were tied behind his back. He 
marched between rows of soldiery, and the Sher¬ 
iff and the Bishop brought up the rear on horses, 
looking mightily puffed up and important over 
the whole proceeding. He would show these 
sturdy rebels—would the Sheriff—whose word 
was law! He knew that the gates were tightly 
fastened; and further he believed that the out¬ 
laws would hardly venture again within the walls, 
even if the gates were open. And as he looked 
around at five score archers and pikemen who 


WILL STUTELY’S RESCUE 247 


lined the way to the gallows, he smiled with grim 
satisfaction. 

Seeing that no help was nigh, the prisoner 
paused at the foot of the scaffold and spoke in a 
firm tone to the Sheriff. 

“My lord Sheriff,” quoth he, “since I must 
needs die, grant me one boon; for my noble 
master ne-er yet had a man that was hanged on 
a tree: 


“Give me a sword all in my hand. 

And let me be unbound, 

And with thee and thy men will I fight 

Till I lie dead on the ground.” 

But the Sheriff would by no means listen to his 
request; but swore that he should be hanged a 
shameful death, and not die by the sword 
valiantly. 

“O no, no, no,” the Sheriff said, 

“Thou shalt on the gallows die. 

Aye, and so shall thy master too. 

If ever it in me lie.” 

“O dastard coward!” Stutely cried, 
“Faint-hearted peasant slave! 

If ever my master do thee meet. 

Thou shalt thy payment have. 

“My noble master thee doth scorn. 

And all thy cowardly crew; 

Such silly imps unable are 
Bold Robin to subdue.” 


248 


ROBIN HOOD 


This brave speech was not calculated to soothe 
the Sheriff. “To the gallows with him!” he 
roared, giving a sign to the hangman; and 
Stutely was pushed into the rude cart which was 
to bear him under the gallows until his neck was 
leashed. Then the cart would be drawn roughly 
away and the unhappy man would swing out 
over the tail of it into another world. 

But at this moment came a slight interruption. 
A boyish-looking palmer stepped forth, and said: 

“Your Excellency, let me at least shrive this 
poor wretch’s soul ere it be hurled into eternity.” 

“No!” shouted the Sheriff, “let him die a 
dog’s death!” 

“Then his damnation will rest upon you,” said 
the monk firmly. “You, my lord Bishop, can¬ 
not stand by and see this wrong done.” 

The Bishop hesitated. Like the Sheriff, he 
wanted no delay; but the people were beginning 
to mutter among themselves and move about 
uneasily. He said a few words to the Sheriff, 
and the latter nodded to the monk ungraciously. 

“Perform your duty, Sir Priest,” quoth he, 
“and be quick about it!” Then turning to his 
soldiers. “Watch this palmer narrowly,” he com¬ 
manded. “Belike he is in league with those ras¬ 
cally outlaws.” 

But the palmer paid no heed to his last words. 
He began to tell his beads quickly, and to speak 


WILL STUTELY’S RESCUE 249 


in a low voice to the condemned man. But he 
did not touch his bonds. 

Then came another stir in the crowd, and one 
came pushing through the press of people and 
soldiery to come near to the scaffold. 

“I pray you, Will, before you die, take leave 
of all your friends!’’ cried out the well-known 
voice of Much, the miller’s son. 

At the word the palmer stepped back suddenly 
and looked to one side. The Sheriff also knew 
the speaker. 

“Seize him!” he shouted. “ ’Tis another of the 
crew. He is the villain cook who once did rob 
me of my silver plate. We’ll make a double 
hanging of this!” 

“Not so fast, good master Sheriff,” retorted 
Much. “First catch your man and then hang 
him. But meanwhile I would like to borrow my 
friend of you awhile.” 

And with one stroke of his keen hunting-knife 
he cut the bonds which fastened the prisoner’s 
arms, and Stutely leaped lightly from the cart. 

“Treason!” screamed the Sheriff, getting black 
with rage. “Catch the varlets!” 

So saying he spurred his horse fiercely for¬ 
ward, and rising in his stirrups brought down his 
sword with might and main at Much’s head. But 
his former cook dodged nimbly underneath the 


250 


ROBIN HOOD 


horse and came up on the other side, while the 
weapon whistled harmlessly in the air. 

“Nay, Sir Sheriff!” he cried, “I must e’en bor¬ 
row your sword for the friend I have borrowed.” 

Thereupon he snatched the weapon deftly 
from the Sheriff’s hand. 

“Here, Stutely!” said he, “the Sheriff has lent 
you his own sword. Back to back with me, man, 
and we’ll teach these knaves a trick or two!” 

Meanwhile the soldiers had recovered from 
their momentary surprise and had flung them¬ 
selves into the fray. A clear bugle-note had also 
sounded—the same which the soldiers had learned 
to dread. ’Twas the rallying note of the green¬ 
wood men. Clothyard shafts began to hurtle 
through the air, and Robin and his men cast 
aside their cloaks and sprang forward crying: 

“Lockesley! Lockesley! A rescue! A res¬ 
cue!” 

On the instant, a terrible scene of hand to hand 
fighting followed. The Sheriff’s men, though 
once more taken by surprise, were determined to 
sell this rescue dearly. They packed in closely 
and stubbornly about the condemned man and 
Much and the palmer, and it was only by des¬ 
perate rushes that the foresters made an opening 
in the square. Ugly cuts and bruises were ex¬ 
changed freely; and lucky was the man who es¬ 
caped with only these. Many of the onlookers, 


WILL STUTELY’S RESCUE 251 


who had long hated the Sheriff and felt sympathy 
for Robin’s men, also plunged into the conflict— 
although they could not well keep out of it, in 
sooth!—and aided the rescuers no little. 

At last with a mighty onrush, Robin cleaved a 
way through the press to the scaffold itself, and 
not a second too soon; for two men with pikes 
had leaped upon the cart, and were in the act of 
thrusting down upon the palmer and Will 
Stutely. A mighty upward blow from Robin’s 
good blade sent the pike flying from the hand of 
one, while a well-directed arrow from the out¬ 
skirts pierced the other fellow’s throat. 

“God save you, master!” cried Will Stutely 
joyfully. “I had begun to fear that I would 
never see your face again.” 

“A rescue!” shouted the outlaws afresh, and 
the soldiery became faint-hearted and ’gan to 
give back. But the field was not yet won, for 
they retreated in close order toward the East 
gate, resolved to hem the attackers within the 
city walls. Here again, however, they were in 
error, since the outlaws did not go out by their 
nearest gate. They made a sally in that direction, 
in order to mislead the soldiery, then abruptly 
turned and headed for the West gate, which was 
still guarded by Arthur-a-Bland. 

The Sheriff’s men raised an exultant shout at 
this, thinking they had the enemy trapped. 


252 


ROBUST HOOD 


Down they charged after them, but the outlaws 
made good their lead, and soon got through the 
gate and over the bridge which had been let 
down by Arthur-a-Bland. 

Close upon their heels came the soldiers—so 
close, that Arthur had no time to close the gate 
again or raise the bridge. So he threw away his 
key and fell in with the yeomen, who now began 
their retreat up the long hill to the woods. 

On this side the town, the road leading to the 
forest was long and almost unprotected. The 
greenwood men were therefore in some distress, 
for the archers shot at them from loop-holes in 
the walls, and the pikemen were reinforced by a 
company of mounted men from the castle. But 
the outlaws retreated stubbornly and now and 
again turned to hold their pursuers at bay by a 
volley of arrows. Stutely was in their midst, 
fighting with the energy of two; and the little 
palmer was there also, but took no part save to 
keep close to Robin’s side and mutter silent 
words as though in prayer. 

Robin put his horn to his lips to sound a rally, 
when a flying arrow from the enemy pierced 
his hand. The palmer gave a little cry and 
sprang forward. The Sheriff, who had followed 
close with his men on horseback, also saw the 
wound and gave a great huzza. 


WILL STUTELY’S RESCUE 253 


“Ha! you will shoot no more bows for a sea¬ 
son, master outlaw!” he shouted. 

“You lie!” retorted Robin fiercely, wrenching 
the shaft from his hand despite the streaming 
blood; “I have saved one shot for you all this 
day. llere take it!” 

And he fitted the same arrow, which had 
wounded him, upon the string of his bow and let 
it fly toward the Sheriff’s head. The Sheriff fell 
forward upon his horse in mortal terror, but not 
so quickly as to escape unhurt. The sharp point 
laid bare a deep gash upon his scalp and must 
certainly have killed him if it had come closer. 

The fall of the Sheriff discomfitted his follow¬ 
ers for the moment, and Robin’s men took this 
chance to speed on up the hill. The palmer had 
whipped out a small white handkerchief and 
tried to staunch Robin’s wound as they went. 
At the sight of the palmer’s hand, Robin turned 
with a start, and pushed back the other’s hood. 

“Marian!” he exclaimed, “you here!” 

It was indeed Maid Marian, who had helped 
save Will, and been in stress of battle from 
the first. Now she hung her head as though 
caught in wrong. 

“I had to come, Robin,” she said simply, “and 
I knew you would not let me come, else.” 

Their further talk was interrupted by an ex¬ 
clamation from Will Scarlet. 


2 54 < 


ROBIN HOOD 


“By the saints, we are trapped!” he said, and 
pointed to the top of the hill, toward which they 
were pressing. 

There from out a gray castle poured a troop of 
men, armed with pikes and axes, who shouted 
and came running down upon them. At the 
same instant, the Sheriff's men also renewed 
their pursuit. 

“Alas!” cried poor Marian, “we are undone! 
There is no way of escape!” 

“Courage, dear heart!” said Robin, drawing 
her close to him. But his own spirit sank as he 
looked about for some outlet. 

Then—oh, joyful sight!—he recognized among 
the foremost of those coming from the castle the 
once doleful knight, Sir Richard of the Lea. He 
was smiling now, and greatly excited. 

“A Hood! a Hood!” he cried; “a rescue!” 

Never were there more welcome sights and 
sounds than these. With a great cheer the out¬ 
laws raced up the hill to meet their new friends; 
and soon the whole force had gained the shelter 
of the castle. Bang! went the bridge as it swung 
back up, with great clanking of chains. Clash! 
went one great door upon the other, as they shut 
in the outlaw band, and shut out the Sheriff, 
who dashed up at the head of his men, his face 
streaked with blood and inflamed with rage. 




CHAPTER XXI 


HOW SIR RICHARD OF THE LEA 
REPAID HIS DEBT 

w _ 

The proud Sheriff loud 'gan cry 
And said, 4 *Thou traitor knight, 

Thou keepest here the King’s enemy 
Against the laws and right.” 


O PEN the gates!'’ shouted the Sheriff 
hoarsely, to the sentinel upon the walls. 
“Open, I say, in the King’s name!” 
“Why who are you to come thus brawling 
upon my premises?” asked a haughty voice; and 
Sir Richard himself stepped forth upon the 
turret. 

“You know me well, traitor knight!” said the 
Sheriff, “now give up into my hands the enemy 
of the King whom you have sheltered against 
the laws and right.” 

“Fair and softly, sir,” quoth the knight 
smoothly. “I well avow that I have done cer¬ 
tain deeds this day. But I have done them upon 
mine own land, which you now trespass upon; 
and I shall answer only to the King—whom God 
preserve!—for my actions.” 

“Thou soft-spoken villain!” said the Sheriff, 
still in a towering passion. “I, also, serve the 

( 255 ) 


256 


ROBIN HOOD 


King; and if these outlaws are not given up to 
me at once, I shall lay siege to the castle and 
burn it with fire.” 

“First show me your warrants,” said Sir Rich¬ 
ard curtly. 

“My word is enough! Am I not Sheriff of 
Nottingham?” 

“If you are, in sooth,” retorted the knight, 
“you should know that you have no authority 
within my lands unless you bear the King’s 
order. In the meantime, go mend your manners, 
lording.” 

And Sir Richard snapped his fingers and dis¬ 
appeared from the walls. The Sheriff, after lin¬ 
gering a few moments longer in hope of further 
parley, was forced to withdraw, swearing fiercely. 

“The King’s order!” muttered he. “That shall 
I have without delay, as well as this upstart 
knight’s estates; for King Richard is lately re¬ 
turned, I hear, from the Holy Land.” 

Meanwhile the knight had gone back to Robin 
Hood and the two men greeted each other right 
gladly. 

“Well met, bold Robin!” cried he, taking him 
in his arms. “Well met, indeed! The Lord has 
lately prospered me, and I was minded this day 
to ride forth and repay my debt to you.” 

“And so you have,” answered Robin gayly. 

“Nay, ’twas nothing—this small service!” said 



RICHARD REPAYS DEBT 257 

the knight. “I meant the moneys coming to 
you.” 

“They have all been repaid,” said Robin; “my 
lord of Hereford himself gave them to me.” 

“The exact sum?” asked the knight. 

“The exact sum,” answered Robin, winking 
solemnly. 

Sir Richard smiled, but said no more at the 
time. Robin was made to rest until dinner 
should be served. Meanwhile a leech bound up 
his hand with ointment, promising him that he 
should soon have its use again. Some half-score 
others of the yeomen had been hurt in the fight, 
but luckily none of grave moment. They were 
all bandaged and made happy by bumpers of ale. 

At dinner Sir Richard presented Robin to his 
wife and son. The lady was stately and gracious, 
and made much of Marian, whom she had known 
as a little girl and who was now clothed more 
seemly for a dinner than in monkish garments. 
The young esquire was a goodly youth and bade 
fair to make as stout a knight as his father. 

The feast was a joyous event. There were 
two long tables, and two hundred men sat down 
at them, and ate and drank and afterward sang 
songs. An hundred and forty of these men 
wore Lincoln green and called Robin Hood their 
chief. Never, I ween, had there been a more 
gallant company at table in Lea Castle! 


258 


ROBIN HOOD 


That night the foresters tarried within the 
friendly walls, and the next day took leave; 
though Sir Richard protested that they should 
have made a longer stay. And he took Robin 
aside to his strong room and pressed him again 
to take the four hundred golden pounds. But 
his guest was firm. 

“Keep the money, for it is your own,” said 
Robin; “I have but made the Bishop return that 
which he extorted unjustly.” 

Sir Richard thanked him in a few earnest 
words, and asked him and all his men to visit 
the armory, before they departed. And therein 
they saw, placed apart, an hundred and forty 
stout yew bows of cunning make, with fine 
waxen silk strings; and an hundred and forty 
sheaves of arrows. Every shaft was a just ell 
long, set with peacock’s feathers, and notched 
with silver. And Sir Richard's fair lady came 
forward and with her own hands gave each yeo¬ 
man a bow and a sheaf. 

“In sooth, these are poor presents we have 
made you, good Robin Hood,” said Sir Richard; 
“but they carry with them a thousand times their 
weight in gratitude.” 

The Sheriff made good his threat to inform 
the King. Forth rode he to London town upon 
the week following, his scalp wound having 


RICHARD REPAYS DEBT 259 


healed sufficiently to permit him to travel. This 
time he did not seek out Prince John, but asked 
audience with King Richard of the Lion Heart 
himself. His Majesty had but lately returned 
from the crusades, and was just then looking into 
the state of his kingdom. So the Sheriff found 
ready audience. 

Then to him the Sheriff spoke at length con¬ 
cerning Robin Hood; how that for many months 
the outlaws had defied the King, and slain the 
King’s deer; how Robin had gathered about 
him the best archers in all the countryside; and, 
finally, how the traitorous knight Sir Richard of 
the Lea had rescued the band when capture 
seemed certain, and refused to deliver them up 
to justice. 

The King heard him through with attention, 
and quoth he: 

“Meseems I have heard of this same Robin 
Hood, and his men, and also seen somewhat of 
their prowess. Did not these same outlaws shoot 
in a royal tourney at Finsbury Field?” 

“They did, Your Majesty, under a royal am¬ 
nesty.” 

In this speech the Sheriff erred, for the King 
asked quickly, 

“How came they last to the Fair at Notting¬ 
ham—by stealth?” 

“Yes, Your Majesty.” 


260 


ROBIN HOOD 


“Did you forbid them to come?” 

“No, Your Majesty. That is-” 

“Speak out!” 

“For the good of the shire,” began the Sheriff 
again, falteringly, “we did proclaim an amnesty; 
but ’twas because these men had proved a 
menace-” 

“Now by my halidom!” quoth the King, while 
his brow grew black. “Such treachery would 
be unknown in the camp of the Saracen; and 
yet we call ourselves a Christian people!” 

The Sheriff kept silence through very fear 
and shame; then the King began speech again: 

“Nathless, my lord Sheriff, we promise to look 
into this matter. Those outlaws must be taught 
that there is but one King in England, and that 
he stands for the law.” 

So the Sheriff was dismissed, with very mixed 
feelings, and went his way home to Nottingham 
town. 

A fortnight later the King began to make 
good his word, by riding with a small party of 
knights to Lea Castle. Sir Richard was advised 
of the cavalcade’s approach, and quickly recog¬ 
nized his royal master in the tall knight who rode 
in advance. Hasting to open wide his castle 
gates he went forth to meet the King and fell on 
one knee and kissed his stirrup. For Sir Rich- 




RICHARD REPAYS DEBT 261 


ard, also, had been with the King to the Holy 
Land, and they had gone on many adventurous 
quests together. 

The King bade him rise, and dismounted from 
his own horse to greet him as a brother in arms; 
and arm-in-arm they went into the castle, while 
bugles and trumpets sounded forth joyous wel¬ 
come in honor of the great occasion. 

After the King had rested and supped, he 
turned upon the knight and with grave face in¬ 
quired : 

“What is this I hear about your castle’s be¬ 
coming a nest and harbor for outlaws?” 

Then Sir Richard of the Lea, divining that the 
Sheriff had been at the King’s ear with his story, 
made a clean breast of all he knew: how that the 
outlaws had befriended him in sore need—as 
they had befriended others—and how that he 
had given them only knightly protection in re¬ 
turn. 

The King liked the story well, for his own soul 
was one of chivalry. And he asked other ques¬ 
tions about Robin Hood, and heard of the 
ancient wrong done his father before him, and of 
Robin’s own enemies, and of his manner of liv¬ 
ing. 

“In sooth,” cried King Richard, springing up, 
“I must see this bold fellow for myself! An 
you will entertain my little company, and be 



262 


ROBIN HOOD 


ready to sally forth, upon the second day, in 
quest of me if need were, I shall e’en fare alone 
into the greenwood to seek an adventure with 
him.” 

But of this adventure you shall be told in the 
next tale; for I have already shown you how Sir 
Richard of the Lea repaid his debt, with interest. 


CHAPTER XXII 


HOW KING RICHARD CAME TO 
SHERWOOD FOREST 


King Richard hearing of the pranks 
Of Robin Hood and his men, 

He much admired and more desired 
To see both him and them. 

* * * * * 

Then Robin takes a can of ale: 

“Come let us now begin; 

And every man shall have his can; 
Here’s a health unto the King!” 


F RIAR TUCK had nursed Little John’s 
wounded knee so skilfully that it was now 
healed. In sooth, the last part of the nurs¬ 
ing depended more upon strength than skill; for 
it consisted chiefly of holding down the patient, 
by main force, to his cot. Little John had felt 
so well that he had insisted upon getting up be¬ 
fore the wound was healed; and he would have 
done so, if the friar had not piled some holy 
books upon his legs and sat upon his stomach. 
Under this vigorous treatment Little John was 
constrained to lie quiet until the friar gave him 
leave to get up. At last he had this leave, and 
he and the friar went forth to join the rest of 
the band, who were right glad to see them, you 

(2G3) 


264 


ROBIN HOOD 


may be sure. They sat around a big fire, for 
’twas a chilly evening, and feasted and made 
merry, in great content. 

A cold rain set in, later, but the friar wended 
his way back, nathless, to his little hermitage. 
There he made himself a cheerful blaze, and 
changed his dripping robe, and had sat himself 
down, with a sigh of satisfaction, before a tank¬ 
ard of hot mulled wine and a pasty, when sud¬ 
denly a voice was heard on the outside, demand¬ 
ing admission. His kennel of dogs set up furious 
uproar, on the instant, by way of proving the 
fact of a stranger’s presence. 

“Now by Saint Peter!” growled the friar, 
“who comes here at this unseemly hour? Does 
he take this for a hostelry? Move on, friend, else 
my mulled wine will get cold!” 

So saying he put the tankard to his lips, when 
a thundering rap sounded upon the door-panel, 
making it to quiver, and causing Tuck almost 
to drop his tankard; while an angry voice 
shouted, 

“Ho! Within there! Open, I say!” 

“Go your way in peace!” roared back the 
friar; “I can do nothing for you. ’Tis but a few 
miles to Game well, if you know the road.” 

“But I do not know the road, and if I did I 
would not budge another foot. ’Tis wet without 


RICHARD AT SHERWOOD 265 


and dry within. So, open, without further par¬ 
ley!” 

“A murrain seize you for disturbing a holy 
man in his prayers!” muttered Tuck savagely. 
Nathless, he was fain to unbar the door in order 
to keep it from being battered down. Then 
lighting a torch at his fire and whistling for one 
of his dogs, he strode forth to see who his visitor 
might be. 

The figure of a tall knight clad in a black coat 
of mail, with plumed helmet, stood before him. 
Ry his side stood his horse, also caparisoned in 
rich armor. 

“Have you no supper, brother?” asked the 
Black Knight curtly. “I must beg of you a bed 
and a bit of roof, for this night, and fain would 
refresh my body ere I sleep.” 

“I have no room that even your steed would 
deign to accept, Sir Knight; and naught save a 
crust of bread and pitcher of water.” 

“I’ faith, I can smell better fare than that, 
brother, and must e’en force my company upon 
you, though I shall recompense it for gold in the 
name of the church. As for my horse, let him 
but be blanketed and put on the sheltered side 
of the house.” 

And without further parley the knight boldly 
strode past Tuck and his dog and entered the 


266 


ROBIN HOOD 


hermitage. Something about his masterful air 
pleased Tuck, in spite of his churlishness. 

“Sit you down, Sir Knight,” quoth he, “and I 
will fasten up your steed, and find him somewhat 
in the shape of grain. Half, also, of my bed and 
board is yours, this night; but we shall see later 
who is the better man, and is to give the orders!” 

“With all my soul!” said the knight laugh¬ 
ing. “I can pay my keeping in blows or gold 
as you prefer.” 

The friar presently returned and drew up a 
small table near the fire. 

“Now, Sir Knight,” quoth he, “put off your 
sword and helm and such other war-gear as it 
pleases you, and help me lay this table, for I am 
passing hungry.” 

The knight did as he was told, and put aside 
the visor which had hid his face. He was a 
bronzed and bearded man with blue eyes, and 
hair shot with gold, haughty but handsome 
withal. 

Then once again the priest sat him down to 
his pasty and mulled wine, right hopefully. He 
spoke his grace with some haste, and was sur¬ 
prised to hear his guest respond fittingly in the 
Latin tongue. Then they attacked the wine and 
pasty valiantly, and the Black Knight made good 
his word of being in need of refreshment. Tuck 
looked ruefully at the rapidly disappearing food, 



THEY ATTACKED THE WINE AND PASTRY VALIANTLY 


















































RICHARD AT SHERWOOD 267 


but came to grudge it not, by reason of the 
stories with which his guest enlivened the meal. 
The wine and warmth of the room had cheered 
them both, and they were soon laughing uproar¬ 
iously as the best of comrades in the world. The 
Rlack Knight, it seemed, had traveled every¬ 
where. He had been on crusades, had fought 
the courteous Saladin, had been in prison, and 
often in peril. But now he spoke of it lightly, 
and laughed it off, and made himself so friendly 
that Friar Tuck was like to choke with merri¬ 
ment. 

“One more bumper before we turn in,” said 
the now mellow friar. He raised a horn of wine 
and held it high. “To the health of the King, 
and confusion to his enemies!” 

“A right good toast,” quoth the other, extend¬ 
ing his cup. 

So passed the time till late; and the two fell 
asleep together, one on each side of the table 
which they had cleared of the platters. 

In the morning Friar Tuck awoke disposed 
again to be surly, but was speedily mollified by 
the sight of the Black Knight who had already 
risen gay as a lark, washed his face and hands, 
and was now stirring a hot gruel over the fire. 

“By my faith, I make a sorry host!” cried 
Tuck springing to his feet. And later as they 
sat at breakfast, he added, “I want not your 


268 


ROBIN HOOD 


gold, of which you spoke last night; but instead 
I will do what I can to speed you on your way 
whenever you wish to depart.” 

“Then tell me,” said the knight, “how I may 
find Robin Hood the outlaw; for I have a mes¬ 
sage to him from the King. All day yesterday 
I sought him, but found him not.” 

Friar Tuck lifted up his hands in holy horror. 
“I am a lover of peace, Sir Knight, and do not 
consort with Robin’s bold fellows.” 

“Nay, I think no harm of Master Hood,” said 
the knight; “but much I yearn to have speech 
with him in mine own person.” 

“If that be all, mayhap I can guide you to his 
haunts,” said Tuck, who foresaw in this knight a 
possible gold-bag for Robin. “In sooth, I could 
not well live in these woods without hearing some¬ 
what of the outlaws; but matters of religion are 
my chief joy and occupation.” 

“I will go with you, brother,” said the Black 
Knight. 

So without more ado they went their way 
into the forest, the knight riding upon his 
charger, and Tuck pacing along demurely by 
his side on a mule. 

The day had dawned clear and bright, and now 
with the sun a good three hours high a sweet 
autumn fragrance was in the air. The wind had 
just that touch of coolness in it which sets the 


RICHARD AT SHERWOOD 269 


hunter’s blood to tingling; and every creature of 
nature seemed bounding with joyous life. 

The knight sniffed the fresh air in delight. 

“By my halidom!” quoth he; “but the good 
greenwood is the best place to live in, after all! 
What court or capital can equal this, for full- 
blooded men?” 

“None of this earth,” replied Tuck smilingly. 
And once more his heart warmed toward this 
courteous stranger. 

They had not proceeded more than three or 
four miles along the way from Fountain Abbey 
to Barnesdale, when of a sudden the bushes just 
ahead of them parted and a well-knit man with 
curling brown hair stepped into the road and laid 
his hand upon the knight’s bridle. 

It was Robin Hood. He had seen Friar Tuck, 
a little way back, and shrewdly suspected his 
plan. Tuck, however, feigned not to know him 
at all. 

“Hold!” cried Robin; “I am in charge of the 
highway this day, and must exact an accounting 
from all passers-by.” 

“Who is it bids me hold?” asked the knight 
quietly. “I am not i’ the habit of yielding to one 
man.” 

“Then here are others to keep me company,” 
said Robin clapping his hands. And instantly a 


270 


ROBIN HOOD 


half-score other stalwart fellows came out of the 
bushes and stood beside him. 

“We be yeomen of the forest, Sir Knight,” 
continued Robin, “and live under the greenwood 
tree. We have no means of support—thanks to 
the tyranny of our over-lords—other than the 
aid which fat churchmen, and goodly knights like 
yourselves can give. And as ye have churches 
and rents, both, and gold in great plenty, we be¬ 
seech ye for Saint Charity to give us some of 
your spending.” 

“I am but a poor monk, good sir!” said Friar 
Tuck in a whining voice, “and am on my way 
to the shrine of Saint Dunstan, if your worship¬ 
fulness will permit.” 

“Tarry a space with us,” answered Robin, 
biting back a smile, “and we will speed you on 
your way.” 

The Black Knight now spoke again. “But 
we are messengers of the King,” quoth he; “His 
Majesty himself tarries near here and would 
have speech with Robin Hood.” 

“God save the King!” said Robin doffing his 
cap loyally; “and all that wish him well! I am 
Robin Hood, but I say cursed be the man who 
denies our liege King’s sovereignty!” 

“Have a care!” said the knight, “or you shall 
curse yourself!” 

“Nay, not so,” replied Robin curtly; “the 




RICHARD AT SHERWOOD 271 


King has no more devoted subject than I. Nor 
have I despoiled aught of his save, mayhap, a 
few deer Tor my hunger. My chief war is against 
the clergy and barons of the land who bear down 
upon the poor. But I am glad,” he continued, 
‘‘that I have met you here; and before we end 
you shall be my friend and taste of our green¬ 
wood cheer.” 

“But what is the reckoning?” asked the 
knight. “For I am told that some of your feasts 
are costly.” 

“Nay,” responded Robin waving his hands, 
“you are from the King. Nathless—how much 
money is in your purse?” 

“I have no more than forty gold pieces, see¬ 
ing that I have lain a fortnight at Nottingham 
with the King, and have spent some goodly 
amounts upon other lordings,” replied the 
knight. 

Robin took the forty pounds and gravely 
counted it. One-half he gave to his men and 
bade them drink the King’s health with it. The 
other half he handed back to the knight. 

“Sir,” said he courteously, “have this for your 
spending. If you lie with kings and lordings 
overmuch, you are like to need it.” 

“Gramercy!” replied the other smiling. “And 
now lead on to your greenwood hostelry.” 

So Robin went on one side of the knight’s 


272 


ROBIN HOOD 


steed, and Friar Tuck on the other, and the men 
went before and behind till they came to the 
open glade before the caves of Barnesdale. Then 
Robin drew forth his bugle and winded the three 
signal blasts of the band. Soon there came a 
company of yeomen with its leader, and another, 
and a third, and a fourth, till there were seven- 
score yeomen in sight. All were dressed in new 
livery of Lincoln green, and carried new bows in 
their hands and bright short swords at their belts. 
And every man bent his knee to Robin Hood ere 
taking his place before the board, which was al¬ 
ready set. 

At Robin’s request, the knight laid aside his 
suit of heavy armor, and was given a loose cloak, 
the better to enjoy the feast. With his helmet re¬ 
moved, and the sunlight striking his ruddy hair 
he made a goodly picture. 

A handsome dark-haired page stood at Robin’s 
right hand to pour his wine and that of the 
knightly guest; while the knight marveled much 
at all he saw, and said within himself: 

“These men of Robin Hood’s give him more 
obedience than my fellows give to me.” 

At the signal from Robin the dinner began. 
There was venison and fowl and fish and wheaten 
cake and ale and red wine in great plenty, and 
’twas a goodly sight to see the smiles upon the 
hungry yeomen’s faces. 


RICHARD AT SHERWOOD 273 


First they listened to an unctuous grace from 
Friar Tuck, and then Robin lifted high a tankard 
of ale. 

“Come, let us now begin,” quoth he, “and 
every man shall have his can. In honor of our 
guest who comes with royal word, here’s a health 
unto the King!” 

The guest responded heartily to this toast, and 
round about the board it went, the men cheer¬ 
ing noisily for King Richard! 

After the feast was over, Robin turned to his 
guest and said, “Now you shall see what life we 
lead, so that you may report faithfully, for good 
or bad, unto the King.” 

So at a signal from him, the men rose up and 
smartly bent their bows for practice, while the 
knight was greatly astonished at the smallness of 
their targets. A wand was set up, far down the 
glade, and thereon was balanced a garland of 
roses. Whosoever failed to speed his shaft 
through the garland, without knocking it off the 
wand, was to submit to a buffet from the hand of 
Friar Tuck. 

“Ho, ho!” cried the knight, as his late travel¬ 
ing companion rose up and bared his brawny arm 
ready for service; “so you, my friend, are Friar 
Tuck!” 

“I have not gainsaid it,” replied Tuck growl¬ 
ing at having betrayed himself. “But chastise- 


274 


ROBIN HOOD 


ment is a rule of the church, and I am seeking 
the good of these stray sheep.” 

The knight said no more, though his eyes 
twinkled; and the shooting began. 

David of Doncaster shot first and landed 
safely through the rose garland. Then came 
Allan-a-Dale and Little John and Stutely and 
Scarlet and many of the rest, while the knight 
held his breath from very amazement. Each fel¬ 
low shot truly through the garland, until Middle 
the tinker—not to be outdone—stepped up for a 
trial. But alas! while he made a fair shot for a 
townsman, the arrow never came within a hand- 
breadth of the outer rim of the garland. 

“Come hither, fellow,” said Little John coax- 
ingly. “The priest would bless thee with his 
open hand.” 

Then because Middle made a w T ry face, as 
though he had already received the buffet, and 
loitered in his steps, Arthur-a-Bland and Will 
Stutely seized him by the arms and stood him be¬ 
fore the friar. Tuck’s big arm flashed through 
the air—“whoof!” and stopped suddenly against 
the tinker’s ear; while Middle himself went roll¬ 
ing over and over on the grass. He was stopped 
by a small bush, and up he sat, thrusting his head 
through it, rubbing his ear and blinking up at the 
sky as though the stars had fallen and struck him. 
The yeomen roared with merriment, and as for 



RICHARD AT SHERWOOD 275 


the knight he laughed till the tears came out of 
his blue eyes and rolled down his face. 

After Middle’s mishap, others of the band 
seemed to lose their balance, and fared in the 
same fashion. The garland would topple over in 
a most impish way at every breath, although the 
arrows w^ent through it. So Middle ’gan to feel 
better when he saw this one and that one tum¬ 
bling on the sward. 

At last came Robin’s turn. He shot carefully, 
but as bad luck would have it the shaft was ill- 
feathered and swerved sidewise so that it missed 
the garland by full three fingers. Then a great 
roar went up from the whole company; for ’twas 
rare that they saw their leader miss his mark. 
Robin flung his bow upon the ground from very 
vexation. 

“A murrain take it!” quoth he. “The arrow 
was sadly winged. I felt the poor feather upon 
it as it left my fingers!” 

Then suddenly seizing his bow again, he sped 
three shafts as fast as he could send them, and 
every one went clean through the garland. 

“By Saint George!” muttered the knight. 
“Never before saw I such shooting in all Chris¬ 
tendom!” 

The band cheered heartily at these last shots; 
but Will Scarlet came up gravely to Robin. 

“Pretty shooting, master!” quoth he, “but 


276 


ROBIN HOOD 


’twill not save you from paying for the bad ar¬ 
row. So walk up and take your medicine!” 

“Nay, that may not be!” protested Robin. 
“The good friar belongs to my company and 
has no authority to lift hands against me. But 
you, Sir Knight, stand as it were for the King. 
I pray you, serve out my blow.” 

“Not so!” said Friar Tuck. “My son, you 
forget I stand for the church, which is greater 
even than the King.” 

“Not in merry England,” said the knight in a 
deep voice. Then rising to his feet, he added, 
“I stand ready to serve you, Master Hood.” 

“Now out upon ye for an upstart knight!” 
cried Friar Tuck. “I told you last night, sirrah, 
that we should yet see who was the better man! 
So we will e’en prove it now, and thus settle who 
is to pay Robin Hood.” 

“Good!” said Robin, “for I want not to start 
a dispute between church and state.” 

“Good!” also said the knight. “ ’Tis an easy 
way to end prattling. Come, friar, strike and ye 
dare. I will give you first blow.” 

“You prate full bravely,” said the friar; “but 
have at ye! Down you shall go, if you were 
Goliath of Gath.” 

Once more the priest’s brawny arm flashed 
through the air, and struck with a “whoof!” 
But to the amazement of all, the knight did not 


RICHARD AT SHERWOOD 277 


budge from his tracks, though the upper half of 
his body swerved slightly to ease the force of the 
blow. A loud shout burst from the yeomen at 
this, for the friar’s fist was proverbial, and few of 
those present had not felt the force of it in times 
past. 

“Now ’tis my turn,” said his antagonist coolly, 
casting aside his gauntlet. And with one blow 
of his fist the knight sent the friar spinning to 
the ground. 

If there had been uproar and shouting before, 
it was as naught to the noise which now broke 
forth. Every fellow held his sides or rolled upon 
the ground from laughter; every fellow, save 
one, and that was Robin Hood. 

“Out of the frying-pan into the fire!” thought 
he. “I wish I had let the friar box my ears, 
after all!” 

Robin’s plight did, indeed, seem a sorry one, 
before the steel muscles of this stranger. But 
he was saved from a tumble heels over head by 
an unlooked-for diversion. A horn winded in 
the glade, and a party of knights were seen ap¬ 
proaching. 

“To your arms!” cried Robin, hurriedly seiz¬ 
ing his sword and bow. 

“ ’Tis Sir Richard of the Lea!” cried another, 
as the troop came nearer. 

And so it was. Sir Richard spurred forward 


278 


ROBIN HOOD 


his horse and dashed up to the camp while the 
outlaws stood at stiff attention. When he had 
come near the spot where the Black Knight 
stood—though now bareheaded and looking 
more monk than knight—he dismounted and 
knelt before him. 

“I trust Your Majesty has not needed our 
arms before,” he said humbly. 

“It is the King!” cried Will Scarlet, falling 
upon his knees. 

“The King!” echoed Robin Hood after a 
moment of dumb wonderment; and he and all 
his men bent reverently upon their knees, as one 
man. 



CHAPTER XXIII 

% 

HOW ROBIN HOOD AND MAID 
MARIAN WERE WED 


“Stand up again,” then said the King, 

“I’ll thee thy pardon give; 

Stand up, my friend; who can contend, 

When I give leave to live?” 

* * * *• * * 

Then Robin Hood began a health 
To Marian, his only dear; 

And his yeomen all, both comely and tall. 

Did quickly bring up the rear. 

Y OUR pardon, sire!” exclaimed Robin 
Hood. “Pardon, from your royal bounty, 
for these my men who stand ready to serve 
you all your days!” 

Richard of the Lion Heart looked grimly 
about over the kneeling band. 

“Is it as your leader says?” he asked. 

“Aye, my lord King!” burst from sevenscore 
throats at once. 

r 

“We be not outlaws from choice alone,” con¬ 
tinued Robin; “but have been driven to outlawry 
through oppression. Grant us grace and royal 
protection, and we will forsake the greenwood 
and follow the King.” 


( 279 ) 


280 


ROBIN HOOD 


Richard’s eyes sparkled as he looked from one 
to another of this stalwart band, and he thought 
within himself that here, indeed, was a royal 
body-guard worth the while. 

“Swear!” he said in his full rich voice; 
“swear that you, Robin Hood, and all your men 
from this day henceforth will serve the King!” 

“We swear!” came once more the answering 
shout from the yeomen. 

“Arise, then,” said King Richard. “I give 
you all free pardon, and will speedily put your 
service to the test. For I love such archers as 
you have shown yourselves to be, and it were a 
sad pity to decree such men to death. England 
could not produce the like again, for many a day. 
But, in sooth, I cannot allow you to roam in the 
forest and shoot my deer; nor to take the law of 
the land into your own hands. Therefore, I now 
appoint you to be Royal Archers and mine own 
especial body-guard. There be one or two civil 
matters to settle with certain Norman noblemen, 
in which I crave your aid. Thereafter, the half 
of your number, as may later be determined, shall 
come back to these woodlands as Royal For¬ 
esters. Mayhap you will show as much zeal in 
protecting my preserves as you have formerly 
shown in hunting them. Where, now, is that 
outlaw known as Little John? Stand forth!” 

“Here, sire,” quoth the giant doffing his cap. 


THE WEDDING 


281 


“Good master Little John,” said the King, 
looking h\m over approvingly. “Could your 
weak sinews stand the strain of an office in the 
shire? If so, you are this day Sheriff of Notting¬ 
ham; and I trust you will make a better official 
than the man you relieve.” 

“I shall do my best, sire,” said Little John, 
great astonishment and gladness in his heart. 

“Master Scarlet, stand forth,” said the King; 
and then addressing him: “I have heard some¬ 
what of your tale,” quoth he, “and that your 
father was the friend of my father. Now, there¬ 
fore, accept the royal pardon and resume the care 
of your family estates; for your father must be 
growing old. And come you to London next 
Court day and we shall see if there be a knight¬ 
hood vacant.” 

Likewise the King called for Will Stutely and 
made him Chief of the Royal Archers. Then he 
summoned Friar Tuck to draw near. 

“I crave my King’s pardon,” said the priest, 
humbly enough; “for who am I to lift my hand 
against the Lord’s anointed?” 

“Nay, the Lord sent the smiter to thee with¬ 
out delay,” returned Richard smiling; “and ’tis 
not for me to continue a quarrel between church 
and state. So what can I do for you in pay¬ 
ment of last night’s hospitality? Can I find 
some fat living where there are no wicked to 


282 


ROBIN HOOD 


chastise, and where the work is easy and com¬ 
fortable?” 

“Not, so, my lord,” replied Tuck. “I wish 
only for peace in this life. Mine is a simple 
nature and I care not for the fripperies and fol¬ 
lies of court life. Give me a good meal and a cup 
of right brew, health, and enough for the day, 
and I ask no more.” 

Richard sighed. “You ask the greatest thing 
in the world, brother—contentment. It is not 
mine to give or to deny. But ask your God for 
it, and if belike he grant it, then ask it also in 
behalf of your King.” He glanced around once 
more at the foresters. “Which one of you is 
Allan-a-Dale?” he asked; and when Allan had 
come forward. “So,” said the King with sober 
face, “you are that errant minstrel who stole a 
bride at Plympton, despite her would-be groom 
and attending Bishop. I heard something of 
this in former days. Now what excuse have you 
to make?” 

“Only that I loved her, sire, and she loved me,” 
said Allan, simply; “and the Norman lord would 
have married her perforce, because of her lands.” 

“Which have since been forfeited by the 
Bishop of Hereford,” added Richard. “But my 
lord Bishop must disgorge them; and from to¬ 
morrow you and Mistress Dale are to return to 
them and live in peace and loyalty. And if ever 


THE WEDDING 


283 


I need your harp at Court, stand ready to attend 
me, and bring also the lady. Speaking of ladies,” 
he continued, turning to Robin Hood, who had 
stood silent, wondering if a special punishment 
were being reserved for him, “did you not have a 
sweetheart who was once at Court—one, Mistress 
Marian? What has become of her, that you 
should have forgotten her?” 

“Nay, Your Majesty,” said the black-eyed 
page coming forward blushingly; “Robin has not 
forgotten me!” 

“So!” said the King, bending to kiss her small 
hand in all gallantry. “Verily, as I have already 
thought within myself, this Master Hood is bet¬ 
ter served than the King in his palace! But are 
you not the only child of the late Earl of Hunt¬ 
ingdon?” 

“I am, sire, though there be some who say 
that Robin Hood’s father was formerly the right¬ 
ful Earl of Huntingdon. Nathless, neither he is 
advantaged nor I, for the estates are confiscate.” 

“Then they shall be restored forthwith!” cried 
the King; “and lest you two should revive the 
ancient quarrel over them, I bestow them upon 
you jointly. Come forward, Robin Hood.” 

Robin came and knelt before his king. Rich¬ 
ard drew his sword and touched him upon the 
shoulder. 

“Rise, Robin Fitzooth, Earl of Huntingdon!” 


284 


ROBIN HOOD 


he exclaimed, while a mighty cheer arose from 
the band and rent the air of the forest. “The 
first command I give you, my lord Earl,” contin¬ 
ued the King when quiet was restored, “is to 
marry Mistress Marian without delay.” 

“May I obey all Your Majesty’s commands as 
willingly!” cried the new Earl of Huntingdon, 
drawing the old earl’s daughter close to him. 
“The ceremony shall take place to-morrow, an 
this maid is willing.” 

“She makes little protest,” said the King; “so 
I shall e’en give away the bride myself!” 

Then the King chatted with others of the for¬ 
esters, and made himself as one of them for the 
evening, rejoicing that he could have this careless 
freedom of the woods. And Much, the miller’s 
son, and Arthur-a-Bland, and Middle, and 
Stutely and Scarlet and Little John and others 
played at the quarter-staff, giving and getting 
many lusty blows. Then as the shades of night 
drew on, the whole company—knights and for¬ 
esters—supped and drank around a blazing fire, 
while Allan sang sweetly to the thrumming of 
the harp, and the others joined in the chorus. 

’Twas a happy, care-free night— this last one 
together under the greenwood tree. Robin could 
not help feeling an undertone of sadness that it 
was to be the last; for the charm of the wood¬ 
land was still upon him. But he knew ’twas bet- 


THE WEDDING 


285 


ter so, and that the new life with Marian and in 
the service of his King would bring its own joys. 

Then the night deepened, the fire sank, but 
was replenished and the company lay down to 
rest. The King, at his own request, spent the 
night in the open. Thus they slept—King and 
subject alike—out under the stars, cared for lov¬ 
ingly by Nature, kind mother of us all. 

In the morning the company was early astir 
and on their way to Nottingham. It was a 
goodly cavalcade. First rode King Richard of 
the Lion Heart, with his tall figure set forth by 
the black armor and waving plume in his helm. 
Then came Sir Richard of the Lea with four¬ 
score knights and men-at-arms. And after them 
came Robin Hood and Maid Marian riding upon 
milk-white steeds. Allan-a-Dale also escorted 
Mistress Dale on horseback, for she was to be 
matron-of-honor at the wedding. These were 
followed by sevenscore archers clad in their 
bravest Lincoln green, and with their new bows 
unstrung in token of peace. 

Outside the gates of Nottingham town they 
were halted. 

“Who comes here?” asked the warder’s surly 
voice. 

“Open to the King of England!” came hack 



286 


ROBIN HOOD 


the clear answer, and the gates were opened and 
the bridge let down without delay. 

Almost before the company had crossed the 
moat the news spread through the town like wild¬ 
fire. 

“The King is here! The King is here, and 
hath taken Robin Hood!” 

From every corner flocked the people to see 
the company pass; and wildly did they cheer for 
the King, who rode smilingly with bared head 
down through the market-place. 

At the far end of it, he was met by the Sheriff 
who came up puffing in his haste to do the King 
honor. He fairly turned green with rage when 
he saw Sir Richard of the Lea and Robin Hood 
in the royal company, but made low obeisance to 
his master. 

“Sir Sheriff,” quoth the King, “I have come 
to rid the shire of outlaws, according to my 
promise. There be none left, for all have now 
taken service with their King. And lest there 
should be further outbreak, I have determined to 
place in charge of this shire a man who fears no 
other man in it. Master Little John is hereby 
created Sheriff of Nottingham, and you will turn 
over the keys to him forthwith.” 

The Sheriff bowed, but dared utter no word. 
Then the King turned to the Bishop of Here¬ 
ford, who had also come up to pay his respects. 


THE WEDDING 


287 


“Harkee, my lord Bishop,” quoth he, “the 
stench of your evil actions has reached our nos¬ 
trils. We shall demand strict accounting for cer¬ 
tain seizures of lands and certain acts of op¬ 
pression which ill become a churchman. But of 
this, later. This afternoon you must officiate at 
the wedding of two of our company, in Notting¬ 
ham Church. So make you ready.” 

The Bishop also bowed and departed, glad to 
escape a severer censure for the time. 

The company then rode on to the Mansion 
House, where the King held high levee through 
all the noon hours, and the whole town made a 
holiday. 

In the afternoon the way from the Mansion 
House to Nottingham Church was lined with 
cheering people, as the wedding party passed by. 
The famous bowmen were gazed at as curiously 
as though they had been wild animals, but were 
cheered none the less. Bobin who had long been 
held in secret liking was now doubly popular 
since he had the King’s favor. 

Along the way ahead of the King and the 
smiling bride and groom-to-be ran little maids 
strewing flowers; while streamers floated in 
greeting from the windows. I ween, the only 
hearts that were not glad this day were those of 
the old Sheriff, and of his proud daughter, who 
peered between the shutters of her window and 


288 


ROBIN HOOD 


was like to eat out her heart from envy and 
hatred. 

At last the party reached the church, where 
the King dismounted lightly from his horse and 
helped the bride to alight; while Will Scarlet, 
the best man, assisted Mistress Dale. Within the 
church they found the Bishop robed in state, and 
by his side Friar Tuck who had been especially 
deputed to assist. 

The service was said in Latin, while the organ 
pealed forth softly. The King gave away the 
bride, as he had said, and afterwards claimed first 
kiss for his pains. Then the happy party dis¬ 
persed, and Robin and Marian passed out again 
through the portal, man and wife. 

Out through the cheering streets they fared, 
while the greenwood men ran ahead and flung 
gold pennies right and left in their joy, and bade 
the people drink the health of the young couple 
and the King. Then the whole party took horse 
at Will Scarlet’s earnest wish, and went down to 
Gamewell Lodge, where the old Squire George 
wept for joy at seeing his son and the King and 
the wedding-party. That night they spent there, 
and feasted, and the next day, Sir Richard of the 
Lea claimed them. 

And thus, amid rejoicing and kingly favor, 
Robin Hood, the new Earl of Huntingdon, and 
his bride began their wedded life. 


CHAPTER XXIV 

i 

HOW ROBIN HOOD MET HIS DEATH 


“Give me my bent bow in my hand. 

And a broad arrow I’ll let flee; 

And where this arrow is taken up, 

There shall my grave digg’d be.” 

N OW by good rights this story should 
end with the wedding of Robin Hood 
and Maid Marian; for do not many pleas¬ 
ant tales end with a wedding and the saying, 
“and they lived happy ever after”? But this is 
a true account—in so far as we can find the 
quaint old ballads which tell of it— and so we 
must follow one more of these songs and learn 
how Robin, after living many years longer, at 
last came to seek his grave. And the story of it 
runs in this wise. 

Robin Hood and his men, now the Royal Arch¬ 
ers, went with King Richard of the Lion Heart 
through England settling certain private dis¬ 
putes which had arisen among the Norman bar¬ 
ons while the King was gone to the Holy Land. 
Then the King proceeded amid great pomp and 
rejoicing to the palace at London, and Robin, 
the new Earl of Huntingdon, brought his 

( 289 ) 


290 


ROBIN HOOD 


Countess thither where she became one of the 
finest ladies of the Court. 

The Royal Archers were now divided into two 
bands, and one-half of them were retained in 
London, while the other half returned to Sher¬ 
wood and Barnesdale, there to guard the King’s 
preserves. 

Several months passed by, and Robin began 
to chafe under the restraint of city life. He 
longed for the fresh pure air of the greenwood, 
and the rollicking society of his yeomen. One 
day, upon seeing some lads at archery practice 
upon a green he could not help but lament, say¬ 
ing, “Woe is me! I fear my hand is fast losing 
its old time cunning at the bow-string!” 

Finally he became so distraught that he asked 
leave to travel in foreign lands, and this was 
granted him. He took Maid Marian with him, 
and together they went through many strange 
countries. Finally in an Eastern land a great 
grief came upon Robin. Marian sickened of a 
plague and died. They had been married but 
five years, and Robin felt as though all the light 
had gone out of his life. 

He wandered about the world for a few months 
longer, trying to forget his grief, then came back 
to the court, at London, and sought some com¬ 
mission in active service. But, unluckily, Rich¬ 
ard was gone again upon his adventures, and 


ROBIN HOOD’S DEATH 


291 


Prince John, who acted as Regent, had never 
been fond of Robin. He received him with a 
sarcastic smile. 

“Go forth into the greenwood,” said he coldly, 
“and kill some more of the King’s deer. Belike, 
then, the King will make you a Prime Minister, 
at the very least, upon his return.” 

The taunt fired Robin’s blood. He had been 
in a morose mood, ever since his dear wife’s 
death. He answered Prince John hotly, and the 
Prince bade his guards seize him and cast him 
into the Tower. 

After lying there for a few weeks, he was re¬ 
leased by the faithful Stutely and the remnant 
of the Royal Archers, and all together they fled 
the city and made their way to the greenwood. 
There Robin blew the old familiar call, which all 
had known and loved so well. Up came running 
the remainder of the band, who had been Royal 
Foresters, and when they saw their old master 
they embraced his knees and kissed his hands, 
and fairly cried for joy that he had come again to 
them. And one and all foreswore fealty to Prince 
John, and lived quietly with Robin in the green¬ 
wood, doing harm to none and only awaiting the 
time when King Richard should come again. 

But King Richard came not again, and would 
never need his Royal Guard more. Tidings pres¬ 
ently reached them, of how he had met his death 


292 


ROBIN HOOD 


in a foreign land, and how John reigned as 
King in his stead. The proof of these events 
followed soon after, when there came striding 
through the glade the big, familiar form of Little 
John. 

“Art come to arrest us?” called out Robin, as 
he ran forward and embraced his old comrade. 

“Nay, I am not come as the Sheriff of Not¬ 
tingham, thanks be,” answered Little John. 
“The new King has deposed me, and ’tis greatly 
to my liking, for I have long desired to join you 
here again in the greenwood.” 

Then were the rest of the band right glad at 
this news, and toasted Little John royally. 

The new King waged fierce war upon the out¬ 
laws, soon after this, and sent so many scouting 
parties into Sherwood and Barnesdale that Robin 
and his men left these woods for a time and 
went to Derbyshire, near Haddon Hall. A 
curious pile of stone is shown to this day as the 
ruins of Robin’s Castle, where the bold outlaw is 
believed to have defied his enemies for a year or 
more. At any rate King John found so many 
troubles of his own, after a time, that he ceased 
troubling the outlaws. 

But in one of these last sorties Robin was 
wounded. The cut did not seem serious, and 
healed over the top; but it left a lurking fever. 


ROBIN HOOD’S DEATH 


293 


Daily his strength ebbed away from him, until he 
was in sore distress. 

One day as he rode along on horseback, near 
Kirkless Abbey, he was seized with so violent a 
rush of blood to the head that he reeled and came 
near falling from his saddle. He dismounted 
weakly and knocked at the Abbey gate. A 
woman shrouded in black peered forth. 

“Who are you that knock here? For we 
allow no man within these walls,” she said. 

“Open, for the love of Heaven!” he begged. 
“I am Robin Hood, ill of fever and in sore 
straits.” 

At the name of Robin Hood the woman 
started back, and then, as though bethinking her¬ 
self, unbarred the door and admitted him. As¬ 
sisting his fainting frame up a flight of stairs and 
into a front room, she loosed his collar and 
bathed his face until he was revived. Then she 
spoke hurriedly in a low voice: 

“Your fever will sink, if you are bled. See I 
have provided a lancet and will open your veins, 
while you lie quiet.” 

So she bled him, and he fell into a stupor 
which lasted nearly all that day, so that he awoke 
weak and exhausted from loss of blood. 

Now there is a dispute as to this abbess who 
bled him. Some say that she did it in all kind¬ 
ness of heart; while others aver that she was 


294 


ROBIN HOOD 


none other than the former Sheriff’s daughter, 
and found her revenge at last in this cruel deed. 

Be that as it may, Robin’s eyes swam from 
very weakness when he awoke. He called wear¬ 
ily for help, but there was no response. He 
looked longingly through the window at the 
green of the forest; but he was too weak to make 
the leap that would be needed to reach the 
ground. 


He then bethought him of his horn, 

Which hung down at his knee; 

He set his horn unto his mouth, 

And blew out weak blasts three. 

Little John was out in the forest near by, or 
the blasts would never have been heard. At 
their sound he sprang to his feet. 

“Woe! woe!” he cried, “I fear my master is 
near dead, he blows so wearily!” 

So he made haste and came running up to the 
door of the abbey, and knocked loudly for ad¬ 
mittance. Failing to get reply he burst in the 
door with frenzied blows of his mighty fist, and 
soon came running up to the room where Robin 
lay, white and faint. 

“Alas, dear master!” cried Little John in great 
distress; “I fear you have met with treachery! 
If that be so, grant me one last boon, I pray.” 

“What is it?” asked Robin. 


ROBIN HOOD’S DEATH 


295 


“Let me burn Kirkley-Hall with fire, and all 
its nunnery/” 

“Nay, good comrade,” answered Robin Hood 
gently, “I cannot grant such a boon. The dear 
Christ bade us forgive all our enemies. More¬ 
over, you know I never hurt woman in all my 
life; nor man when in woman’s company.” 

He closed his eyes and fell back, so that his 
friend thought him dying. The great tears fell 
from the giant’s eyes and wet his master’s hand. 
Robin slowly rallied and seized his comrade’s 
outstretched arm. 

“Lift me up, good Little John,” he said 
brokenly, “I want to smell the air from the good 
greenwood once again. Give me my good yew 
bow—here—here—and fix a broad arrow upon 
the string. Out yonder—among the oaks— 
where this arrow shall fall—let them dig my 
grave.” 

And with one last mighty effort he sped his 
shaft out of the open window, straight and true, 
as in the days of old, till it struck the largest oak 
of them all and dropped in the shadow of the 
trees. Then he fell back upon the sobbing 
breast of his devoted friend. 

“ ’Tis the last!” he murmured, “tell the brave 
hearts to lay me there with the green sod under 
my head and feet. And—let them lay—my bent 





296 


ROBIN HOOD 


bow at my side, for it has made sweet music in 
mine ears.” 

He rested a moment, and Little John scarce 
knew that he was alive. But on a sudden 
Robin’s eyes brightened, and he seemed to think 
himself back once more with the band in the 
open forest glade. He struggled to rise. 

“Ha! ’tis a fine stag, Will! And Allan, thou 
never didst thrum the harp more sweetly. How 
the light blazes! And Marian!—’tis my Marian 
—come at last!” 

So died the body of Robin Hood; but his spirit 
lives on through the centuries in the deathless 
ballads which are sung of him, and in the hearts 
of men who love freedom and chivalry. 

They buried him where his last arrow had 
fallen, and they sat up a stone to mark the spot. 
And on the stone were graven these words: 

“Here underneath this little stone 
Lies Robert, Earl of Huntingdon; 

Never archer as he so good. 

And people called him Robin Hood. 

Such outlaws as he and his men 
Will England never see again.” 


THE END 


9 


APPENDIX 


THE ROBIN HOOD BALLADS 

In the introduction to the present volume, mention 
is made of the early editions of the Robin Hood ballads. 
For the convenience of the reader we give herewith a 
list of these ballads, indicating the particular ones upon 
which our stories are based. We also print three or 
four ballads entire, so that the reader may enjoy for 
himself the dash, swing, and rollicking humor of their 
lines. 

1. A GEST OF ROBYN HODE 

One of the earliest if not the earliest Robin Hood 
ballad. First issued without imprint or date, and sup¬ 
posed to be earlier than ‘ i A Lytell Geste of Robyn Hode 
and His Meiny” printed by Wynken de Worde about 
1510. Two or three other fragments are extant. This 
ballad begins as follows: 

Lythe and listin, gentilmen, 

That be of freborne blode: 

I shall you tell of a gode yeman, 

His name was Robyn Hode. 

This “Gest” is divided into “Fyttes” (fights), “The 
First Fytte,” “The Second Fytte,” etc. There are 
eight of these, and 456 four line stanzas in all. 

Some of the incidents narrated in our first chapter, 
“How Robin Hood Became an Outlaw/’ are found 
here; but the Gest also gives episodes throughout his 
career of “Twenty Yere and Two” in the “Grene 
Wode.” 

2. ROBIN HOOD AND LITTLE JOHN 

The earliest version extant is one printed in black¬ 
face type, and dated circa 1680. It is in the collection 

( 297 ) 


298 


ROBIN HOOD 


of Lord Crawford. Mention is made of earlier texts. 
One, “A pastorall pleasant commedie of Robin Hood 
and Little John/’ is entered in the Stationer’s Register, 
London, in 1594, as published by Edward White. 

A version dated 1723, included with “A Collection 
of Old Ballads,” is as follows: 

When Robin Hood was about twenty years old, 

With a hey down down and a down, 

He happened to meet Little John, 

A jolly brisk blade, right fit for the trade, 

For he was a lusty young man. 

Tho he was called Little, his limbs they were large, 
And his stature was seven foot high; 

Where-ever he came, they quak’d at his name, 

For soon he would make them to fly. 

How they came acquainted, I ’ll tell you in brief, 

If you will but listen a while; 

For this very jest, amongst all the rest, 

I think it may cause you to smile. 

Bold Robin Hood said to his jolly bowmen, 

“Pray tarry you here in this grove; 

And see that you all observe well my call, 

While through the forest I rove. 

“We have had no sport for these fourteen long days, 
Therefore now abroad will I go, 

Now, should I be beat, and cannot retreat, 

My horn I will presently blow.” 

Then did he shake hands with his merry men all, 

And bid them at present good b’w’ye; 

Then, as near a brook his journey he took, 

A stranger he chanced to espy. 

They happened to meet on a long narrow bridge, 

And neither of them would give way; 

Quoth bold Robin Hood, and sturdily stood, 

“I’ll show you right Nottingham play.” 


APPENDIX 


299 


With that from his quiver an arrow he drew, 

A broad arrow with a goose-wing: 

The stranger reply’d, “I’ll liquor thy hide, 

If thou offerst to touch the string.” 

Quoth bold Robin Hood, “Thou dost prate like an ass, 
For were I to bend but my bow, 

I could send a dart quite thro thy proud heart, 

Before thou couldst strike me one blow.” 

“Thou talkst like a coward,” the stranger reply’d; 
“Well armd with a long bow you stand, 

To shoot at my breast, while I, I protest, 

Have nought but a staff in my hand. ’ ’ 

“The name of a coward,” quoth Robin, “I scorn, 
Wherefore my long bow I’ll lay by; 

And now, for thy sake, a staff will I take, 

The truth of thy manhood to try.” 

Then Robin Hood stept to a thicket of trees, 

And chose him a staff of ground-oak; 

Now this being done, away he did run 
To the stranger, and merrily spoke: 

“ Lo! see my staff, it is lusty and tough, 

Now here on the bridge we will play; 

Whoever falls in, the other shall win 
The battel, and so we’ll away.” 

“With all my whole heart,” the stranger reply’d; 

“I scorn in the least to give out;” 

This said, they fell to’t without more dispute, 

And their staffs they did flourish about. 

And first Robin he gave the stranger a bang, 

So hard that it made his bones ring: 

The stranger he said, “This must be repaid, 

I ’ll give you as good as you bring. 

“So long as I’m able to handle my staff, 

To die in your debt, friend, I scorn.” 

Then to it each goes, and followd their blows, 

As if they had been threshing of corn. 


300 


ROBIN HOOD 


The stranger gave Robin a crack on the crown, 
Which caused the blood to appear; 

Then Robin, enrag’d, more fiercely engag’d, 

And followd his blows more severe. 

So thick and so fast did he lay it on him, 

With a passionate fury and ire, 

At every stroke, he made him to smoke, 

As if he had been all on fire. 

0 then into fury the stranger he grew, 

And gave him a damnable look, 

And with it a blow that laid him full low, 

And tumbld him into the brook. 

“I prithee, good fellow, 0 where art thou now?” 

The stranger, in laughter, he cry’d; 

Quoth bold Robin Hood, “Good faith, in the flood, 
And floating along with the tide. 

“I needs must acknowledge thou art a brave soul; 

With thee I’ll no longer contend; 

For needs must I say, thou hast got the day, 

Our battel shall be at an end.” 

Then unto the bank he did presently wade, 

And pulld himself out by a thorn; 

Which done, at the last, he blowd a loud blast 
Straitway on his fine bugle-horn. 

The eccho of which through the vallies did fly, 

At which his stout bowmen appeared, 

All cloathed in green, most gay to be seen; 

So up to their master they steerd. 

“Oh what’s the matter?” quoth William Stutely; 

‘ ‘ Good master, you are wet to the skin: ’ ’ 

“No matter,” quoth he; “the lad which you see, 

In fighting, hath tumbld me in.” 

“He shall not go scot-free,” the others reply’d; 

So straight they were seizing him there, 

To duck him likewise; but Robin Hood cries, 

“He is a stout fellow, forbear. 


APPENDIX 


301 


There’s no one shall wrong thee, friend, be not afraid; 
These bowmen upon me do wait; 

There ’s threescore and nine; if thou wilt be mine, 
Thou shalt have my livery strait. 

1 ‘ And other accoutrements fit for a man; 

Speak up, jolly blade, never fear; 

I ’ll teach you also the use of the bow, 

To shoot at the fat fallow-deer. ’ ’ 

1 0 here is my hand,’ the stranger reply’d, 

‘Ill serve you with all my whole heart; 

My name is John Little, a man of good mettle; 

Nere doubt me, for 111 play my part. ’ ’ 

“His name shall be alterd,” quoth William Stutely, 
“And I will his godfather be; 

Prepare then a feast, and none of the least, 

For we will be merry,” quoth he. 

They presently fetchd in a brace of fat does, 

With humming strong liquor likewise; 

They lovd what was good; so, in the greenwood, 

This pretty sweet babe they baptize. 

He was, I must tell you, but seven foot high, 

And, may be, an ell in the waste; 

A pretty sweet lad; much feasting they had; 

Bold Robin the christning grac’d, 

With all his bowmen, which stood in a ring, 

And were of the Nottingham breed; 

Brave Stutley comes then, with seven yeomen, 

And did in this manner proceed. 

“This infant was called John Little,” quoth he, 

‘ ‘ Which name shall be changed anon; 

The words we’ll transpose, so where-ever he goes, 

His name shall be calld Little John.” 

They all with a shout made the elements ring, 

So soon as the office was ore; 

To feasting they went, with true merriment, 

And tippld strong liquor gillore. 


302 


ROBIN HOOD 


Then Robin he took the pretty sweet babe, 

And cloathd him from top to the toe 
In garments of green, most gay to be seen, 

And gave him a curious long bow. 

“Thou shalt be an archer as well as the best, 

And range in the greenwood with us; 

Where we’ll not want gold nor silver, behold, 

While bishops have ought in their purse. 

“We live here like squires, or lords of renown, 

Without ere a foot of free land; 

We feast on good cheer, with wine, ale, and beer, 

And evry thing at our command. ’ ’ 

Then musick and dancing did finish the day; 

At length, when the sun waxed low, 

Then all the whole train the grove did refrain, 

And unto their caves they did go. 

And so ever after, as long as he livd, 

Altho he was proper and tall, 

Yet nevertheless, the truth to express, 

Still Little John they did him call. 

3. ROBIN HOOD AND THE BUTCHER 

This ballad is a variation of “Robin Hood and the 
Potter,” an incomplete manuscript in old English which 
dates back to circa 1500. The incidents of the two are 
quite similar. There are at least two versions of “The 
Butcher” extant, the earliest, in the Percy Ms. being 
incomplete. The second which follows, is included in 
the Garland of 1663 and the Garland of 1670. 

Come, all you brave gallants, and listen a while, 

With hey down down and a down, 

That are in the bowers within; 

For of Robin Hood, that archer good, 

A song I intend for to sing. 


APPENDIX 


303 


Upon a time it chanc’d so 
Bold Robin in forrest did spy 

A jolly butchei*, with a bonny fine mare, 

With his flesh to the market did bye. 

“Good morow, good fellow,” said jolly Robin, 

“What food hast? Tell unto me; 

And thy trade to me tell, and where thou dost dwell, 
For I like well thy company.” 

The butcher, he answered jolly Robin: 

‘ ‘ No matter where I dwell; 

For a butcher I am, and to Notingham 
I am going, my flesh to sell.” 

“What is the price of thy flesh?” said jolly Robin, 
“Come, tell it soon unto me; 

And the price of thy mare, be she never so dear, 

For a butcher fain would I be.” 

“The price of my flesh,” the butcher reply’d, 

‘ ‘ I soon will tell unto thee; 

With my bonny mare, and they are not dear, 

Four mark thou must give unto me.” 

“Four mark I will give thee,” said jolly Robin, 

‘ 4 Four mark it shall be thy fee; 

Thy mony come count, and let me mount, 

For a butcher I fain would be.” 

Now Robin he is to Notingham gone, 

His butcher’s trade for to begin; 

With good intent, to the sheriff he went, 

And there he took up his inn. 

When other butchers they opened their meat, 

Bold Robin he then begun; 

But how for to sell he knew not well, 

For a butcher he was but young. 

When other butchers no meat could sell, 

Robin got both gold and fee; 

For he sold more meat for one peny 
Than others could do for three. 


304 


ROBIN HOOD 


But when he sold his meat so fast, 

No butcher by him could thrive; 

For he sold more meat for one peny 
Than others could do for five. 

Which made the butchers of Notingham 
To study as they did stand, 

Saying, surely he was some prodigal, 

That had sold his father’s land. 

The butchers they stepped to jolly Robin, 
Acquainted with him for to be; 

“Come, brother,” one said, “we be all of one trade, 
Come, will you go dine with me?” 

“Accurst of his heart,” said jolly Robin, 

“That a butcher doth deny; 

I will go with you, my brethren true, 

And as fast as I can hie.” 

But when to the sheriff’s house they came, 

To dinner they hied apace, 

And Robin he the man must be 
Before them all to say grace. 

“Pray God bless us all,” said jolly Robin, 

‘ ‘ And our meat within this place; 

A cup of sack so good will nourish our blood, 

And so I do end my grace. 

“Come fill us more wine,” said jolly Robin, 

‘ ‘ Let us merry be while we do stay ; 

For wine and good cheer, be it never so dear, 

I vow I the reckning will pay. 

“Come, brothers, be merry,” said jolly Robin, 

“Let us drink, and never give ore; 

For the shot I will pay, ere I go my way, 

If it cost me five pounds and more.” 

* ‘ This is a mad blade, ’ ’ the butchers then said; 

Saies the sheriff, “He is some prodigal, 

That some land has sold, for silver and gold, 

And now he doth mean to spend all. 


APPENDIX 


305 


“Hast thou any horn-beasts ,’’ the sheriff reply’d, 
“Good fellow, to sell unto me?” 

“Yes, that I have,'good Master Sheriff, 

I have hundreds two or three. 

“And a hundred aker of good free land, 

If you please it to see; 

And He make you as good assurance of it 
As ever my father made me. ’ ’ 

The sheriff he saddled a good palfrey, 

With three hundred pound in gold, 

And away he went with bold Robin Hood, 

His horned beasts to behold. 

Away then the sheriff and Robin did ride, 

To the forrest of merry Sherwood; 

Then the sheriff did say, “God bless us this day 
From a man they call Robin Hood! ’ ’ 

But when that a little further they came, 

Bold Robin he chanced to spy 

A hundred head of good red deer, 

Come tripping the sheriff full nigh. 

“How like you my horned beasts, Good Master Sheriff? 
They be fat and fair for to see;” 

“I tell thee, good fellow, I would I were gone, 

For I like not thy company.” 

Then Robin he set his horn to his mouth, 

And blew but blasts three; 

Then quickly anon there came Little John, 

And all his company. 

“What is your will?” then said Little John, 

“Good master come tell it to me;” 

“I have brought hither the sheriff of Notingham, 

This day to dine with thee.” 

“He is welcome to me,” then said Little John, 

“I hope he will honestly pay; 

I know he has gold, if it be but well told, 

Will serve us to drink a whole day.” 


306 


ROBIN HOOD 


Then Robin took his mantle from his back, 

And laid it upon the ground, 

And out of the sheriff’s portmantle 
He told three hundred pound. 

Then Robin he brought him thorow the wood, 

And set him on his dapple gray: 

‘‘0 have me commended to your wife at home; ’ ’ 

So Robin went laughing away. 

4. LITTLE JOHN AND THE SHERIFF 

This adventure is taken from ‘‘The Third Fytte” in 
“A Gest of Robyn Hode.” 

5. HOW THE SHERIFF LOST THREE GOOD SERVANTS 

This is a continuation of the foregoing and is based 
upon “The Third Fytte.” Some incidents, however, 
are found in later ballads, where the misadventures of 
the sheriff were a favorite theme. 

6. ROBIN HOOD AND WILL SCARLET 

A similar story to this is the tale of Gamelyn by 
Chaucer. The Robin Hood ballad is entitled, “Robin 
Hood Newly Reviv’d,” which appeared in at least five 
versions, including the Garlands of 1663 and 1670. 
Scarlet is frequently styled “Scarlock” and “Scathlok” 
in earlier texts. 

7. ROBIN HOOD AND FRIAR TUCK 

“The Famous Battle between Robin Hood and the 
Curtal Frier” is one of the best known ballads, likewise 
one of the finest. There is an irresistible humor in 
this adventure. At least six early copies are extant, in¬ 
cluding the Garlands of 1663 and 1670. The complete 
version, as we now have it, follows: 

In summer time, when leaves grow green, 

And flowers are fresh and gay, 

Robin Hood and his merry men 
Were disposed to play. 


APPENDIX 


307 


Then some would leap, and some would run, 

And some \yould use artillery: 

“Which of you can a good bow draw, 

A good archer to be? 

“Which of you can kill a buck? 

Or who can kill a do ? 

Or who can kill a hart of greece, 

Five hundred foot him fro?” 

Will Scadlock he killd a buck, 

And Midge he killd a do, 

And Little John killd a hart of greece, 

Five hundred foot him fro. 

“God’s blessing on thy heart,” said Robin Hood, 
4 4 That hath shot such a shot for me; 

I would ride my horse an hundred miles, 

To finde one could match with thee.” 

That caused Will Scadlock to laugh, 

He laughed full heartily: 

4 4 There lives a curtal frier in Fountains Abby 
Will beat both him and thee. 

4 4 That curtal frier in Fountains Abby 
Well can a strong bow draw; 

He will beat you and your yoemen, 

Set them all on a row.” 

Robin Hood took a solemn oath, 

It was by Mary free, 

That he would neither eat nor drink 
Till the frier he did see. 

Robin Hood put on his harness good, 

And on his head a cap of steel, 

Broad sword and buckler by his side, 

And they became him weel. 

He took his bow into his hand, 

It was made of a trusty tree, 

With a sheaf of arrows at his belt, 

To the Fountains Dale went he. 


308 


ROBIN HOOD 


And comming unto Fountains Dale, 

No further would he ride; 

There was he aware of a curtal frier, 

Walking by the w r ater-side. 

The fryer had on a harniss good, 

And on his head a cap of steel, 

Broad sword and buckler by his side, 

And they became him weel. 

Robin Hood lighted off his horse, 

And tied him to a thorn: 

“Carry me over the water, thou curtal frier. 
Or else thy life’s forlorn.” 

The frier took Robin Hood on his back, 

Deep water he did bestride, 

And spake neither good word nor bad, 

Till he came at the other side. 

Lightly leapt Robin Hood off the friers back; 
The frier said to him again, 

* * Carry me over this w^ater, fine fellow, 

Or it shall breed thy pain.” 

Robin Hood took the frier on’s back, 

Deep water he did bestride, 

And spake neither good word nor bad, 

Till he came at the other side. 

Lightly leapt the fryer off Robin Hoods back 
Robin Hood said to him again, 

“Carry me over this water, thou curtal frier, 
Or it shall breed thy pain.” 

The frier took Robin Hood on’s back again, 
And stept up to the knee; 

Till he came at the middle stream, 

Neither good nor bad spake he. 

And coming to the middle stream, 

There he threw Robin in: 

“And chuse thee, chuse thee, fine fellow, 
Whether thou wilt sink or swim. ’ ’ 


APPENDIX 


309 


Bobin Hood swam to a bush of broom, 

The frier to a wicker wand; 

Bold Robin Hood is gone to shore, 

And took his bow in hand. 

One of his best arrows under his belt 
To the frier he let flye; 

The curtail frier, with his steel buckler, 

He put that arrow by. 

“Shoot on, shoot on, thou fine fellow, 
Shoot on as thou hast begun; 

If thou shoot here a summer day, 

Thy mark I will not shun. ’ ’ 

Robin Hood shot passing well, 

Till his arrows all were gone; 

They took their swords and steel bucklers, 
And fought with might and maine; 

From ten oth’ clock that day, 

Till four ith’ afternoon; 

Then Robin Hood came to his knees, 

Of the frier to beg a boon. 

“A boon, a boon, thou curtal frier, 

I beg it on my knee; 

Give me leave to set my horn to my mouth, 
And to blow blasts three. ’ ’ 

“That will I do,” said the curtal frier, 
“Of thy blasts I have no doubt; 

I hope thou’It blow so passing well 
Till both thy eyes fall out. * ’ 

Robin Hood set his horn to his mouth, 

He blew but blasts three; 

Half a hundred yeomen, with bows bent, 
Came raking over the lee. 

“Whose men are these,” said the frier, 
“That come so hastily?” 

“These men are mine,” said Robin Hood; 
“Frier, what is that to thee?” 


310 


ROBIN HOOD 


“A boon, a boon,” said the curtal frier, 

‘ ‘ The like I gave to thee; 

Give me leave to set my fist to my mouth, 
And to whute 1 whutes three. ” 

“That will I do,” said Robin Hood, 

‘ ‘ Or else I were to blame; 

Three whutes in a frier fist 
Would make me glad and fain.” 

The frier he set his fist to his mouth, 

And whuted whutes three; 

Half a hundred good ban-dogs 
Came running the frier unto. 

“Here’s for every man of thine a dog, 

And I myself for thee : 9 ’ 

“Nay, by my faith,” quoth Robin Hood, 
“Frier, that may not be.” 

Two dogs at once to Robin Hood did go, 

The one behind, the other before; 

Robin Hoods mantle of Lincoln green 
Off from his back they tore. 

And whether his men shot east or west, 

Or they shot north or south, 

The curtal dogs, so taught they were, 

They kept their arrows in their mouth. 

“Take up thy dogs,” said Little John, 
“Frier, at my bidding be;” 

“Whose man art thou,” said the curtal frier, 
“Comes here to prate with me?” 

“I am Little John, Robin Hoods man, 

Frier, I will not lie; 

If thou take not up thy dogs soon, 

I’le take up them and thee.” 

Little John had a bow in his hand, 

He shot with might and main; 

Soon half a score of the friers dogs 
Lay dead upon the plain. 

1 whistle 



APPENDIX 


311 


Hold thy hand, good fellow,” said the curtal frier, 
“Thy master and I will agree; 

And we will have new orders taken 
With all the haste that may be.” 

“If thou wilt forsake fair Fountains Dale, 

And Fountains Abby free, 

Every Sunday throughout the year, 

A noble shall be thy fee. 

“And every holy day throughout the year, 

Changed shall thy garment be, 

If thou wilt go to fair Notingham, 

And there remain with me.” 

This curtal frier had kept Fountains Dale 
Seven long years or more; 

There was neither knight, lord, nor earl 
Could make him yield before. 

8. ROBIN HOOD AND ALAN-A-D ALE 

“Robin Hood and Allin of Dale” is first found in 
leaflet copies dating back to the end of the 17th century. 
An earlier version linking the adventure with Scarlok 
or Scarlet, is about a century earlier. It is included 
in three collections thereafter. The incidents narrated 
in the ballad are closely followed in our story. 

9. THE widow’s THREE SONS 

“Robin Hood Rescuing Three Squires,” and “Robin 
Hood Rescuing the Widow’s Three Sons from the 
Sheriff, when going to be Executed” are two versions 
of this story. There are some repetitions in “Robin 
Hood and the Beggar” and “The Curtal Frier.” The 
Three Sons” ballad is found in “The English Archer, 
Robin Hood’s Garland,” 1786, and other collections. 

10. ROBIN HOOD AND THE BEGGAR 

An extremely long ballad, 193 stanzas, with the above 
title, and probably made up of two ballads which were 


312 


ROBIN HOOD 


fused together. Appears in several versions, including 
the Garlands of 1663 and 1670. 

11. ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE 

One of the earliest of these ballads, and widely popu¬ 
lar. The beginning, however, is incomplete. It dates 
back probably to the 14th century. A dramatic frag¬ 
ment of the year 1475 or earlier is still preserved in 
Ms. form. 

12. ROBIN HOOD AND MAID MARIAN 

The first ballads of Robin Hood did not link up his 
name with that of Maid Marian; instead, his sweet¬ 
heart was a certain Clorinda (See “Robin Hood’s Birth, 
Breeding, and Marriage”). Although Maid Marian 
is first mentioned about 1500, her exploits and those of 
the outlaw chief are kept separate. She is lady’s maid 
to Queen Katherine and disguises herself as a page to 
seek out Robin Hood. At a later date came “A Famous 
Battle between Robin Hood and Maid Marian, declaring 
their Love, Life, and Liberty,” upon which our story is 
based. A play by Munday, “The Downfall of Robert, 
Earl of Huntingdon” also follows the main incidents 
of the present tale. 

13. THE KING’S TOURNEY 

There are several ballads relating to the tournament 
held by King Henry, and Queen Katherine. Histori¬ 
cally, the Queen’s name should be Eleanor. The sum¬ 
mons sent by the Queen to Robin Hood by a page is 
narrated in the foregoing story of Maid Marian. The 
best known of these ballads are: ‘ ‘ Robin Hood and 

Queen Katherine,” “Renowned Robin Hood and the 
Queen,” and “Robin Hood’s Chase.” 

14. ROBIN HOOD AND THE TINKER 

Not among the earlier collections, such as the Gar¬ 
lands of 1663 and 1670. A Ms. in the Roxburghe col¬ 
lection, included by later editors. 


APPENDIX 


313 


15. ROBIN HOOD AND THE TANNER 

A popular, ballad and one of the best. It was in¬ 
cluded in the two Garlands, and other early collections. 
The complete ballad follows, with the exception of two 
stanzas (9 and 10). 

In Nottingham there lives a jolly tanner, 

With a hey down down a down down, 

His name is Arthur a Bland; 

There is nere a squire in Nottinghamshire 
Dare bid bold Arthur stand. 

With a long pike-staff upon his shoulder, 

So well he can clear his way; 

By two and by three he makes them to flee, 

For he hath no list to stay. 

And as he went forth, in a summer’s morning, 

Into the forrest of merry Sherwood, 

To view the red deer, that range here and there, 

There met he with bold Robin Hood. 

As soon as bold Robin Hood did him espy, 

He thought some sport he would make; 

Therefore out of hand he bid him to stand, 

And thus to him he spake: 

“Why, what art thou, thou bold fellow, 

That ranges so boldly here? 

In sooth, to be brief, thou lookest like a thief, 

That comes to steal our king’s deer. 

“For I am a keeper in this forrest; 

The king puts me in trust 
To look to his deer, that range here and there, 
Therefore stay thee I must.” 

“If thou beest a keeper in this forrest, 

And hast such a great command, 

Yet thou must have more partakers 1 in store, 

Before thou make me to stand.” 

1 partners 



314 


ROBIN HOOD 


“Nay, I have no more partakers in store, 

Or any that I do need; 

But I have a staff of another oke graft 4 , 

I know it will do the deed.” 

‘ ‘ Marry gep with a wenion! ’ ’ quoth Arthur-a-Bland, 
“Art thou such a goodly man? 

I care not a fig for thy looking so big; 

Mend thou thyself where thou can.” 

Then Robin Hood he unbuckled his belt, 

He laid down, his bow so long; 

He took up a staff of another oke graff, 

That was both stiff and strong. 

“lie yield to thy weapon,” said jolly Robin, 

‘ ‘ Since thou wilt not yield to mine; 

For I have a staff of another oke graff, 

Not half a foot longer then thine. 

“But let me measure,” said jolly Robin, 

‘ ‘ Before we begin our fray; 

For He not have mine to be longer then thine, 

For that will be called foul play. ’ ’ 

“I pass not for length,” bold Arthur reply’d, 

“My staff is of oke so free; 

Eight foot and a half, it will knock down a calf, 

And I hope it will knock down thee.” 

Then Robin Hood could no longer forbear; 

He gave him such a knock, 

Quickly and soon the blood came down, 

Before it was ten a clock. 

Then Arthur he soon recovered himself, 

And gave him such a knock on the crown, 

That on every hair of bold Robin Hood’s head, 

The blood came trickling down. 

Then Robin Hood raged like a wild bore, 

As soon as he saw his own blood; 

Then Bland was in hast, he laid on so fast, 

As though he had been staking of wood. 


APPENDIX 


315 


And about, and about, and about they went, 

Like two wilddbores in a chase; 

Striving to aim each other to maim, 

Leg, arm, or any other place. 

And knock for knock they lustily dealt, 

Which held for two hours and more; 

That all the wood rang at every bang, 

They ply’d their work so sore. 

“Hold thy hand, hold thy hand,” said Robin Hood, 
“And let our quarrel fall; 

For here we may thresh our bones into mesh, 

And get no coyn at all. 

“And in the forrest of merry Sherwood 
Hereafter thou shalt be free: ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ God-a-mercy for naught, my freedom I bought, 

I may thank my good staff, and not thee.” 

“What tradesman art thou?” said jolly Robin, 
“Good fellow, I prethee me show: 

And also me tell in what place thou dost dwel, 

For both these fain would I know. ’ ’ 

* 1 1 am a tanner, ’ ’ bold Arthur reply’d, 

‘ ‘ In Nottingham long have I wrought; 

And if thou’It come there, I vow and do swear 

I will tan thy hide for naught.” 

“God a mercy, good fellow,” said jolly Robin, 

II Since thou art so kind to me; 

And if thou wilt tan my hide for naught, 

I will do as much for thee. 

“But if thou’It forsake thy tanner’s trade, 

And live in green wood with me, 

My name’s Robin Hood, I swear by the rood 
I will give thee both gold and fee.” 

“If thou be Robin Hood,” bold Arthur reply’d, 

“As I think well thou art, 

Then here’s my hand, my name’s Arthur-a-Bland, 
We two will never depart. 


316 


ROBIN HOOD 


* 1 But tell me, 0 tell me, where is Little John 1 
Of him fain would I hear; 

For we are alide by the mother side, 

And he is my kinsman near. 

Then Robin Hood blew on the beaugle horn, 

He blew full lowd and shrill, 

But quickly anon appeared Little John, 

Come tripping down a green hill. 

“0 what is the matter?” then said Little John, 
“Master I pray you tell; 

Why do you stand with your staff in your hand ? 

I fear all is not well.” 

“0 man, I do stand, and he makes me to stand, 

The tanner that stands thee beside; 

He is a bonny blade, and master of his trade, 

For soundly he hath tand my hide. ’ ’ 

“He is to be commended,” then said Little John, 
“If such a feat he can do; 

If he be so stout, we will have a bout, 

And he shall tan my hide too.” 

“Hold thy hand, hold thy hand,” said Robin Hood, 
“For as I do understand, 

He is a yoeman good, and of thine own blood, 

For his name is Arthur a Bland.” 

Then Little John threw his staff away, 

As far as he could it fling, 

And ran out of hand to Arthur a Bland, 

And about his neck did cling. 

With loving respect, there was no neglect, 

They were neither nice nor coy, 

Each other did face, with a lovely grace, 

And both did weep for joy. 

Then Robin Hood took them both by the hand, 

And danc’d round about the oke tree; 

“For three merry men, and three merry men, 

And three merry men we be. 


APPENDIX 317 


“And ever hereafter, as long an I live, 

We three will he all one; 

The wood shall ring, and the old wife sing, 

Of Robin Hood, Arthur, and John. ,, 

16. SIR RICHARD OF THE LEA 

Sir Richard is first mentioned, but not by name, in 
“The First Fytte” of the “Gest:” 

All dreri was his semblaunce, 

And lytell was his pryde; 

His one fote in the strop stode, 

That others wavyd beside. 

His adventures and friendship with the outlaws oc¬ 
cupy the first two “Fyttes,” and come in again in the 
fourth. In the fifth he rescues Robin Hood’s band and 
is first mentioned by name. He is mentioned also in 
other ballads. 

17, 18. ROBIN HOOD AND THE BISHOP 

A favorite theme of the early ballad-mongers was the 
outwitting of some avaricious churchman by Robin, who 
delighted to relieve him of his money-bags and give at 
least a part of the contents back to the poor. Two 
ballads, “Robin Hood and the Bishop,’’ and “ Robin 
Hood and the Bishop of Hereford,” found in the early 
Garlands and other collections, are the foundation of 
our stories. 

19. ROBIN HOOD AND THE GOLDEN ARROW 

The earliest version of this tale is found in “The 
Fyfth Fytte” of the “Gest.” A separate ballad, en¬ 
titled as above, is found in three Garlands. 

20. ROBIN HOOD RESCUING WILL STUTELY 

A ballad by the above title appears in the Garlands 
of 1663, and 1670, also in Wood’s and Pepy’s collec¬ 
tions. The main incidents are the same as in our tale. 


318 


ROBIN HOOD 


21. SIR RICHARD OF THE LEA 

See note to the 16th story. 

22. KING RICHARD 

The seventh and eighth “Fyttes” of the “Gest” tell 
of the coming of the King to Sherwood Forest, or rather 
to Nottingham, which was hard by. The King’s name, 
however, is given as Edward. A later ballad, entitled 
‘ ‘The King’s Disguise, and Friendship with Robin 
Hood,” appears in a Garland dated about 1753; and 
in at least three succeeding collections. These versions 
speak of “King Richard,” and narrate the story we 
have given in prose, 

23. ROBIN HOOD AND MAID MARLAN 

See note for the 12th story. Incidents are inter¬ 
woven in this prose tale from “The King’s Disguise,” 
“Robin Hood’s Marriage,” and “Robin Hood and Maid 
Marian. ’ ’ 

24. robin hood’s death 

The concluding stanzas, 450-456, of the “Gest” tell 
briefly of the outlaw’s betrayal and death. Another 
version, “Robin Hoode, his Death,” gives the same 
facts in more detail, but lacks several stanzas. “Robin 
Hood’s Death and Burial,” found in “The English 
Archer,” supplies other incidents. Here Robin says 
to Little John : 

“Lay me a green sod under my head, 

And another at my feet; 

And lay my bent bow by my side, 

Which was my music sweet; 

And make my grave of gravel and green, 

Which is most right and meet.” 

“Robin Hood and the Valient Knight,” a still later 
version, gives his last fight, states that a monk, and not 
a prioress, bled him to death, and gives his epitaph 
(which we have paraphrased slightly in the story). 


APPENDIX 


319 


Ritson in his edition of the Ballads, of 1832, inserts 
this note: 

The Epitaph which the Prioresse of the Monastery of 
Kirkes Lay in Yorke-shire set over Robbin Hood, which, 
as is before mentioned, was to bee reade within these 
hundreth years, though in old broken English, much to 
the same sence and meaning. 

Decembris quarto die, 1198: anno regni Richardii 
Primi 9. 

Robert Earle of Huntington 
Lies under this little stone. 

No archer was like him so good: 

His wildness named him Robbin Hood. 

Pull thirteene yeares, and something more, 

These northerne parts he vexed sore. 

Such out-lawes as he and his men 
May England never know agen. 

The date in Latin above given, “December 4, 1198, 
in the ninth year of the reign of Richard the First,” 
is the date given for Robin’s death. 

OTHER BALLADS 

Other ballads dealing with Robin Hood, which have 
not been utilized separately in our prose story, include 
the following: 

Robin Hood and the Monk 
Robin Hood and the Potter 
The Jolly Pinder of Wakefield 
Robin Hood and the Prince of Aragon 
Robin Hood and the Scotchman 
Robin Hood and the Ranger 
The Bold Pedlar and Robin Hood 
Robin Hood and the Shepherd 
Robin Hood’s Delight 
Robin Hood and the Pedlars 
Robin Hood’s Progress to Nottingham 
Little John a-Begging 


320 


ROBIN HOOD 


/ 


Robin Hood and Queen Katherine 

The Noble Fisherman, or Robin Hood’s Preferment 

Robin Hood and the Valiant Knight 

A True Tale of Robin Hood. 
















































































































































